Glass. 
 
 Book. 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN EDMUND HARWOOD. 
 
 Stulta est dementia, cum tot ubique 
 
 Vatibus occurras, perituras parcere chartse. 
 
 Juv. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY M. & W. WARD, NO. 4 CITY-HOTEL, 
 FOR JOSEPH OSBORN. 
 
 1809. 
 
 V 
 
 

 1 
 
 District of New-Fork, ss : 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the fifteenth day of July, in the thirty- 
 fourth year of the independence of the United States of America, JojM 
 seph Osborn, of the said district, hath deposited in this office the title ol a 
 book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, 
 to wit: « Poems by John Edmund Harwood. Stulta est dementia, cum tot 
 " ubique vatibus occurras, periturse parcere chartse. Juv. In conformity 
 to the act of the congress of the United States, entitled, " an act for the ea- 
 " couragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, ana y 
 £' books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times 
 " therein mentioned ;" and also to an act entitled an act supplementary 
 « to an act entitled an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
 « the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of 
 « such copies, during the times therein mentioned, and extending the benej 
 « fits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and 
 " other prints." 
 
 CHARLES CLINTON, Clerk of the district of New-Fork, j 
 
 PRINTED BY D. AND G. BRUCE. 
 
ELEGIES. 
 
I 
 
 ELEGIES. 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 The solemn shade of evening clos'd around ; 
 
 The leaves, scarce wafted by the feeble wind, 
 To Fancy (wrapt in blest delirium) sound 
 
 Like some sweet converse of celestial kind. 
 
 Mild Contemplation, with her matron mien, 
 Shunning alike the glare of life and day, 
 
 With ling'ring step enjoys her fav'rite scene, 
 And pauses oft, its beauties to survey. 
 
Still be it mine to rove in Fancy's dream, 
 To tune the reed, and carol Nature's lays; 
 
 To trace the winding of the ruffled stream, 
 Where uie pale moon-beam on the surface plays ■ 
 
 To steal, where, rising o'er the topmost boughs 
 Of lofty beech, the tow'r majestic stands; 
 
 Where Death has marshall'd, in uneven rows 
 The awful victims of his dread commands. 
 
 Where, silent, mingling with its native earth 
 The form of faded beauty charms no more; 
 
 Where wit is silent, where inactive worth 
 Gives its last lesson to the slaves of pow'r. 
 
 Ah ! why, my flutfring soul, from scenes like these, 
 Where Fancy soars to realms of bliss above, 
 
 Where the wrapt mind the joys of heav'n may seize, 
 Why dost thou turn, to dwell on earthly love? 
 
Why dost thou fondly hope that pride may cease? 
 
 Ambition, wave the idol of its heart] 
 Ah, foolish voice of fond affection, peace ! 
 
 Nor urge disdain to point a keener dart ! 
 
 ^There, where yon mansion rises to the view, 
 
 I've seen her tread, with footsteps light, the lawn ; 
 
 Health lent her blooming cheek its roseate hue, 
 And gave her breath the perfumes of the dawn. 
 
 Like youthful Spring, around her smiles she threw, 
 For ah ! her presence gave a smile to all ; 
 
 Myself, the humblest, sought her fav'ring view, 
 Nor shunn'd those charms which might each heart 
 inthrall. 
 
 But, when I told of love, of sorrows past, 
 And how disdain would sink me to the tomb, 
 B 2 
 
Oh ! she was cold as Winter's ling'ring blast, 
 That nips the flow'rets in their early bloom ! 
 
 Fearful to part with pangs, though sorely stung, 
 Still Emma's dear-lov'd name was Edmund's theme ; 
 
 Fancy by day upon her beauties hung, 
 
 And grasp'd her shadow in the midnight dream. 
 
 Imagination stamps not on the mind 
 
 The soul's faint workings in the hour of night, 
 
 Reason approves not, nor will memory bind 
 In adamantine chains th' ideal sight. 
 
 Ah, no ! the light-wing'd vision flies afar, 
 Leaving faint traces on the widow'd mind ; 
 
 Its date, the twinkling of the morning star, 
 Yet, yet, more fleeting than the passing wind. 
 
But what avails that thus my woes I tell ! 
 
 My song no pity gains from her I love ; 
 In vain the notes of plaintive sorrow swell, 
 
 Hard is the heart my verse attempts to move. 
 
 I'll hang my harp upon some leafless tree, 
 
 Where the rude wind that desolates the heath, 
 
 Howling discordant notes of misery, 
 
 May sweep the jarring strings with boisfrous breath. 
 
ELEGY TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Be not allur'd, my friend, by flatt'ring love ; 
 
 Gay are its prospects, and its colours bright ; 
 But, tempted in its mazy paths to rove, 
 
 Sorrow and pain succeed to short delight. 
 
 From dreams portentous, from disorder'd rest, 
 Pale from my couch I start at morn's first ray ; 
 
 And gazing, silent, on the op'ning east, 
 Weep midst the glories of the rising day. 
 
 To every shrub, to every flow'r and tree, 
 Day's orb, diffusive, lends its genial aid ; 
 
 But not to me ! Deny'd alone to me ! — 
 
 My youth's gay blossoms wither in the shade* 
 
9 
 
 Ye springs of sorrow, from whose tainted source 
 My trembling lips inhal'd the draught of wo, 
 
 Can nought, alas ! restrain your fatal course ? 
 These furrows smooth ? restore health's vivid glow ? 
 
 Say, can ye make that tyrant form less fair? 
 
 Or bid her roses this wan cheek adorn 1 — 
 No ! — I was mark'd the victim of despair ! 
 
 She, to each bliss, as to each charm, was born ! 
 
10 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Ah me! how great the memory of love ! 
 
 How oft athwart Imagination's eye, 
 Ghosts of departed rapture, wilt thou move, 
 
 And heave to life the deeply-buried sigh ! 
 
 How often picture to my aching sense 
 
 The hour, when first my Emma's radiant charms 
 Beam'd on my soul !— that hour, though distant henc 
 
 Still wakens slumb'ring love with soft alarms. 
 
 Though white the fleecy show'r of falling snow, 
 My Emma's bosom with that snow had vied; 
 
 Save where the azure veins, with richer glow, 
 Mark'd the pure course of life's supporting tide. 
 
11 
 
 There sought a vagrant lock repose to find, 
 Which with a rival hand away she threw ; 
 
 And, as her tresses floated on the wind, 
 
 The passing sun-beams caught their golden hue . 
 
 Entranc'd, I gaz'd, till, by a seraph's tone, 
 Of danger caution'd, I that danger found ; 
 
 The calm indifference of my bosom gone, 
 And every sense in seas of trouble drown'd. 
 
12 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Ah me! with what ardour I chas'd the delusion, 
 Where fancy midst scenes of futurity roVd, 
 
 When the falter of language, the blush of confusion, 
 Betray'd the kind wishes of her whom I lov'd. 
 
 At length I possess'd the vain fugitive hour 
 So wish'd for, to end my pursuit and my care ; 
 
 Smiles of favour secede to the stern frown of pow'r, 
 She Iisten'd, disdain'd, and condemned to despair. 
 
 Farewell the sweet hope that still whisper'd to-morrow, 
 To-morrow shall silence these doubtings and fears; 
 
 With the winds thou shalt mingle the breath of thy 
 sorrow, 
 And lose, in the stream of oblivion, thy tears. 
 
IS 
 
 Farewell the sweet interest, enhancing our pleasure. 
 And softening the cares we are destin'd to know ; 
 
 Farewell, ye gay revels, ah, dear beyond measure ! 
 Tho ? nought ye have left, but remembrance and wo. 
 
 Unheeded the seasons distribute their pow'r, 
 A stranger to life, I exist but to mourn ! 
 
 I feel not the biting of winter's sharp hour, 
 And vainly the beauties of nature return. 
 
14 
 
 ELEGY TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 ADVISING HER NOT TO SEEK CURE FOR LOVE 
 IN DISSIPATION. 
 
 When fate condemns her woes severe to prove, 
 Hard is the task to brave the storms of care ; 
 
 And, in the sea of disappointed love, 
 
 Ride the tempestuous billows of despair. 
 
 The scorn of pride, the sneer which envy wears, 
 Malignant scandal, pest of social joy, 
 
 These, and much more, the soul of virtue bears, 
 But love despis'd the firmest can destroy. 
 
15 
 
 Yet sure to worth like thine, to beauty's pow'r. 
 No heart so hard that could insensate prove ; 
 
 Condemn thee, ruthless, in a fatal hour, 
 
 To feel the thorns, to lose the sweets of love ! 
 
 Say, canst thou fear the youfh may prove untrue? 
 
 Or can he wish lost freedom to regain 1 
 No, not the gold of Ophir or Peru 
 
 Could tempt the happy slave to leave his chain. 
 
 Myself the hated victim of the fair 
 
 Whom more than health, than life, I fondly prize, 
 Though lost in grief, corroded by despair, 
 
 Tenacious still, retain the sacred ties. 
 
 If any tempt thee from the rural plain, 
 
 In dissipation's round to seek a cure, 
 To tread the ring, where folly leads her train, 
 
 Ah ! hear a voice that bids thee shun the lure, 
 
k6 
 
 Nourish'd in glades, shall fond affection live, 
 And bear the sweetest fruit of bliss below ; 
 
 But here, Ambition some false clue may give, 
 That leads from virtue, and directs to wo, 
 
 When o'er the hills the morn with genial breath 
 Skims on light wings, temp'ring the sun's fierce beams, 
 
 Lock'd in the sickly arms of mimic death, 
 Fashion's pale vot'ry wastes in restless dreams. 
 
 Eve, which should gather round the cheerful fire 
 The social party, link'd in friendship's band, 
 
 Draws the gay circle to some vain desire, 
 By Folly bred, and nurs'd by Fashion's hand. 
 
 No charms are here, that win the spotless heart, 
 No jocund spirit that can grief beguile ; 
 
 But beauty blasted by the hand of art, 
 
 And suppliant wit, that courts the villain's smile. 
 
17 
 
 Peace dwells not here, ev'n in the dead of night, 
 When sleep, with thee, the living world hath bound; 
 
 Save where the screech-owl, from the turret's height, 
 Oft throws his melancholy bodings round. 
 
 The ray of grandeur, from the midnight torch, 
 Here pours along the scene its blazing light ; 
 
 While the loud knocker, from the echoing porch 5 
 With rude vibration wakes the torpid night. 
 
 May heav'n, that form'd thee of a gentler kind, 
 Still with the hand of favour guard thy frame ; 
 
 For, ah ! there lurks, in every passing wind, 
 Some deadly foe to virtue or to fame ! 
 
 Quit not the scene, where thou art wont to dwell 
 In peace, and thro' the neighb'ring woodlands rove. 
 
 List ning to hear the lonely night-bird tell, 
 In nature's voice, the tale of absent love, 
 
 C2 
 
18 
 
 Quit not the scene, whereon thy gazing eye, 
 Tasting new charms, may yet unsated rove, 
 
 Mark the bright opning in the distant sky, 
 And learn the lesson of expectant love. 
 
 
19 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 Tw AS morn, — Day's glorious orb arose to chase 
 The pearly dew-drop from the glisfning blade, 
 
 To scatter blushes o'er the glowing face 
 Of grateful nature, veil'd in envious shade. 
 
 Beneath yon willow, whose depending head, 
 In all the seeming pomp of winning w r o, 
 
 Hangs o'er the gurgling river's pebbly bed, 
 Kissing the lucid waters as they flow; 
 
 There Reason's eye surveyed the magic scene, 
 
 And paus'd, and wonder'd at the beauties shown ; 
 
 Till, careless, stretch'd on the enamell'd green, 
 Sleep's sombre veil was o'er my senses thrown. 
 

 20 
 
 Soft-sailing on a silver cloud appeared, 
 With looks benignant, and seducive wiles, 
 
 The God of young delights ! — most lov d, most fear'd ! 
 So stern in anger, and so sweet in smiles ! 
 
 The laughing Graces lurking midst his hair, 
 The arch enchantments of his azure eye, 
 
 The tender sweetness of his soothing air, 
 LulFd my rapt soul in soft security. 
 
 No ! Emma, no ! — Young Cupid was not blind ! 
 
 For, well he chose the arrow that he threw ! 
 Th* empoison'd shaft still rankles in my mind I 
 
 And Cupid is— as treacherous as you ! 
 
ODES. 
 
OB MS* 
 
 GAIETY, 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 I. 
 
 O Nature ! 'tis to thee I owe, 
 
 That, ere I scarce had cast away 
 
 Those joys which blest my infant day. 
 
 Thou didst thy rarest gift bestow ; 
 
 While mocking echo with my transports rung, 
 
 While every thought was young, 
 
 And opening reason mark'd thy scene 
 
 Of regular variety, 
 
24 
 
 Thou to a soul susceptible, 
 
 Trembling with sensation keen, 
 
 And too, too, finely sensible, 
 
 Gavest unaffected gaiety! 
 
 He comes ! he comes ! in look a child ! 
 
 So sweetly soft, so innocently mild ! 
 
 He comes ! and I his coming hail ! 
 
 All the art the urchin knew 
 
 Was one arch smile, 
 
 Which might the wary sage beguile, 
 
 And, robbing wisdom of its sombre veil, 
 
 Expose its naked poverty to view! 
 
 II. 
 
 So light he was, that he could skim 
 
 On Zephyr's pinions o'er the breast of morn! 
 
 So frolic, so replete with whim, 
 
25 
 
 That Sorrow fled when he was born ; 
 And as she fled, she curst the day 
 That rescu'd millions from her tyrant sway. 
 Through adverse clouds, which oft misfortune brings, 
 He darted swifter than the ray of light, 
 And, laughing, shook his humid wings, 
 That glitter'd to the sight. 
 The soul of inconsistency, 
 And constant only to inconstancy ! 
 So fair his form, so sweet his face, 
 That, where he chose to woo, 
 Not long his suit he did pursue, 
 For e'en the blushing maid would court the boy's 
 embrace ! 
 
26 
 
 III. 
 
 Young, unsuspicious, void of guile, 
 
 How then could I resist th' endearing smile, 
 
 The proffer'd hand! 
 
 Sweet pledge of fellowship and friendship bland ! 
 
 Lur'd by his acts, his footsteps I pursu'd 
 
 O'er fertile meads, 
 
 Where the pleas'd heifer feeds, 
 
 O'er woods, lawns, craggy rocks, stupendous, rough* 
 
 and rude ! 
 Welcome where'er we came, 
 Bearing a passport in his name; 
 Receiv'd with smiles, and courteous bend, 
 And hospitable brow ; 
 
 One smile from him suspicion could remove ! 
 Oft princely maidens heard his vow, 
 
27 
 
 Oft cottage nymphs were proud to love, 
 And youth to call him friend ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Full sixteen winters wand'ring wild, 
 
 I blest the lovely meteor-joy, 
 
 And thoughtless follow'd this seducive child, 
 
 This frolic wanton boy. 
 
 Now spring again with nature's nurslings play'd, 
 
 She drest them in their gayest, best attire, 
 
 And bade them hail the sun, their universal sire. 
 
 Once with my young companion I had stray'd, 
 
 With footsteps light, with soul elate, 
 
 O'er many a distant plain, 
 
 Till evening warn'd us home again, 
 
 Chiding with general blush our vagrant state. 
 
28 
 
 We mock'd the pretty prude, and fled 
 
 To where yon mountain rears its head, 
 
 Beneath whose shaggy brow, with hanging ivies crown'd, 
 
 A fairy grot we found ; 
 
 Nature, in glowing beauties warm, 
 
 Here lavish'd each luxuriant charm; 
 
 Till modest Art restrained her sister grace ! 
 
 O'er her fair form a decent robe she threw, 
 
 And half concealed from view 
 
 The heavenly glories of her smiling face. 
 
 Here the glow-worm sheds a light, 
 
 Dim-twinkling through the glooms of night ; 
 
 A tender beam ! that serves to guide 
 
 The weary traveller to the mossy bed, 
 
 With purple violets spread ; 
 
29 
 
 Here, o'er the bosom of the rose, 
 A sheltering veil the verdant myrtle throws ; 
 Both, Cupid's favourite flowers, both, Cupid's darling 
 pride ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 In his own blushes drest, 
 
 Within, the traitor Love repos'd ; 
 
 At first some fears my soul possest, 
 
 But soon his soothing voice those fears compos'd ; 
 
 And if, as poets say, the god is blind, 
 
 It is not in the outward eye, 
 
 But in the keen perception of the mind ! 
 
 In those blue stars replete with liquid light, 
 
 Myriads of laughing mischiefs lurking lie, 
 
 Instilling poison through the orbs of sight. 
 
 D 2 
 
30 
 
 Pleas'd, and unthinking, to my breast 
 
 With rapturous joy the god I prest ; 
 
 But soon my fatal trust I learnt to rue ! 
 
 An arrow from his bow swift flew, 
 
 Wounding his new-made friend ! 
 
 Soon, soon, the sweet enchantment fades, 
 
 The sun of rapture sinks in shades, 
 
 The twin deceivers high ascend ! 
 
 I hear them laughing in the distant sky 
 
 With mad enthusiastic revelry ! 
 
 Cursing their wanton mirth, 
 
 Dejected and forlorn, 
 
 I sink to earth, 
 
 An abject hapless mark for taunting scorn, 
 
31 
 
 ODE TO EMMA, 
 
 ON VALENTINE S DAY. 
 
 Yet, undiminished to the eye, 
 
 The star of morn shoots forth its ray, 
 As heedless of the coming day, 
 That brightens in the tinted sky ! 
 
 Wave thy leaden sceptre, Sleep ! 
 Silence, thy still vigil keep, 
 Lest some rude sprite a sound should move, 
 And break the slumbers of my love ; 
 In times of yore, this hallow'd morn 
 Heard the love of ev'ry swain, 
 With equal love returned again ; 
 Nor saw the brow deform'd by scorn. 
 
32 
 
 II. 
 
 Now, when the first faint rays of light, 
 Banish the flitting shades of night, 
 
 When all is rapture ! all is love ! 
 When from each tree the plumy throng 
 With morn's gay minstrel pour the song, 
 
 May tender sympathies thy bosom move ! 
 O Emma ! let us join the vocal choir, 
 And sing the transports of a mutual fire. 
 Nor wonder, maiden, whence I dare 
 Thus covet all that's good and fair ; 
 But ask that eye which ever speaks, 
 That coral lip, those vermil cheeks ; 
 Ask, ask those locks of burnish'd gold, 
 That, like the rays of pure ethereal fire, 
 Play round an angel's face, and heavenly love inspire ; 
 These may the cause unfold ! 
 
33 
 
 ODE ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF EMMA, 
 
 NOVEMBER 16, 1788, 
 
 Blest be the morn that gave thee birth, 
 
 Sweet anchor of my hopes on earth ! 
 That gnawing vulture, Care, 
 
 Flies from those charms which none resist ; 
 
 And Sorrow, melting like the morning mist. 
 Clear'd by Love's sun, disperses into air ! 
 
 When nature all to icy coldness yields, 
 
 When not a flower adorns the fields, 
 Yet is she fairer than the spring ! 
 
 Warm as the sigh of love, where joys abide ! 
 And tender as the nursling vines, that cling 
 
 For kind protection to the mountain's side, 
 
' 
 
 34 
 
 All hail, auspicious morn J 
 The song of joy prepare ! 
 Though in the season of despair, 
 
 My fairest hope was born ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Fain would fond love assist my unskilful hand, 
 And through the flowery meads of Joy's domain, 
 
 Urged by my gentle Emma's kind command, 
 Follow fair Fancy, and her frolic train. 
 
 But, ah ! the webs of doubt obstruct my speed, 
 
 Her foul entanglements my steps impede, 
 The lovely vision fades from sight ! 
 And winter spreads her thickest night ! 
 
 Yes, Nature, thou hast lost thy borrowed bloom ! 
 Forth from the north, to desolate the field, 
 
 Envelop'd in a threefold gloom, 
 
35 
 
 Comes the rude blast, whose pestilential breath 
 
 Announces vegetation's death ! 
 The bending flowerets to the tempest yield ; 
 
 The yellow leaf of autumn flies, 
 Sport for the wind, and is beheld no more ! 
 
 But I, the victim of thine eyes, 
 Droop ere the spring of life is o'er, 
 Unless thy cheering smiles, my youth, my strength, 
 
 restore! 
 
36 
 
 ODE ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF EMMA, 
 
 NOVEMBER l6, 1789- 
 
 Let laurels shade the victor's brow, 
 
 Let bays o'erhang the temples of the bard.* 
 I ask no public marks of praise to know, 
 A smile from her I love is rich reward ! 
 Mine be the yearly task to sing 
 Of beauty's opening charm, 
 And still the grateful tribute bring, 
 When beauty can no longer warm. 
 Calm, unimpeird by passion's force 
 When life's full tide shall gain a temperate course, 
 
37 
 
 Mine be the task to plume anew 
 Love's faded wing, while memory calls to view 
 Beauties for ever flown ! 
 Enchantments long foregone ! 
 Those murder'd Graces, victims of Time's rage I 
 Yes ! — I will fan Love's spark, amidst the frosts of age. 
 
 II. 
 
 When mirthful innocence, in sportive play, 
 Wanton'd midst Emma's smiles, and kiss'd her brow, 
 
 Such was the song of Hope ; the cheering lay 
 Spoke to the heart, and bade its pulses glow. 
 But baleful interest warpt the maiden's mind ; 
 
 The hell-born fury wav'd the sooty brand, 
 
 And scattering tempests o'er the land, 
 Hope's voice was lost, midst many a howling wind ! 
 
 E 
 
38 
 
 III. 
 
 Curst in pursuit ! while disappointment still 
 
 Fills the vain grasp, yet fancy leads astray ! 
 And like some hind, who climbs the topmost hill, 
 
 To catch the glories of the parting day, 
 When darkness draws her sable curtain round, 
 Far from his quiet home, stretch'd on the ground, 
 Convinc'd, alas ! too late ! 
 With tears he mourns his hapless fate ! 
 So, by Hope's cheering ray, I wander far ; 
 
 Deserted reason calls me back in vain ! 
 Destin'd to follow still Love's meteor glare ! 
 
 Destin'd — for promis'd joy, to clasp disdain ! 
 
35 
 
 ODE ON EMMAS BIRTH-DAY, 
 
 NOVEMBER l6, 1790. 
 
 Blow gently, winds : let stern November's blast 
 
 Back to its dreary cave return again ; 
 Release the stream its icy hand made fast, 
 
 And check the chilling course of winter's reign. 
 Zephyr, renew thy spring, 
 The violet's odour bring, 
 And from the primrose bank on laden wing 
 Bear off the scented dews of morn ; 
 The rose's hue to tint my Emma's lip 
 Steal from its silken leaf, and deftly sip 
 The pearl that bends the glistening thorn. 
 
40 
 
 O'er this fair sun, that boasts her natal hour, 
 May renovated spring shed many a fragrant flow'*. 
 
 II. 
 
 While smiling Innocence adorns her youth, 
 
 A youth, like May, in blushing beauties warm ; 
 Long-shelter'd time ! from thy destroying tooth, 
 And boasting long, each magic power to charm, 
 Those charms shall cause fond sighs 
 To burst their cell, those hazel eyes, 
 Whence love with arch intention flies, 
 Shall many a bosom with strong passion heave ! 
 On her the soldier, midst the din of war, 
 Shall think and brave the battle's deepest scar ; 
 The poet shall his gayest chaplet weave ! 
 Bow, captive senses ! — Reason, quit thy throne ! — 
 Unrivaird Emma reigns ! my heart is all her own. 
 
41 
 
 ODE ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF EMMA, 
 
 NOVEMBER l6, 1791- 
 I. 
 
 When raging winter, foster'd in the north, 
 
 With savage howlings quits his horrid den, 
 His icy car by whirlwinds hurried forth 
 
 To chase fair Flora from the haunts of men ; 
 When darkening clouds arise, and distant rain 
 
 With many a dusky column streaks the sky, 
 Then desolation scuds across the plain, 
 
 And, bow'd to earth, autumnal flow'rets die. 
 Ah ! how unmeet ! the cheerless earth 
 Beholds my beauteous Emma's birth, 
 E 2 
 
42 
 
 While storms and tempests rage ! 
 As though the summers pride, the rose, 
 In youthful bloom should seek repose 
 
 Upon the frozen breast of age. 
 
 II. 
 
 This is her natal day ! fly, swiftly fly, 
 Sylphs, fairies, zephyrs, wing ye through the sky ; 
 Perhaps some shelter'd flower remains, 
 
 And smiles upon the passing gale ; 
 Some woodbine, nursed with fostering pains, 
 
 Some lily, bosom'd in the vale ! 
 Haste, haste, and on each laden wing 
 The honey'd treasure bring ! 
 
 Then search some distant clime, 
 Where yet revolves the youthful spring, 
 
 Or summer's healthy prime, 
 
43 
 
 From all that's passing sweet, from all that's rare, 
 With busy fingers cull the fragrant spoil ; 
 
 The heliotrope, the rich diosma bear, 
 
 And beauty's smiles shall recompense your toil. 
 
 III. 
 
 And thou, sweet maid, for whom I sing, 
 For whom resounds th' obedient string, 
 That echoes through the plain, 
 Ah ! hear me with thy wonted smile, 
 And sweetly all my woes beguile, 
 Nor let me sue in vain. 
 Change not those richer tints for pallid scorn, 
 
 Blight not my hopes with blasts of cold disdain, 
 But, mild as airs that sweep the dewy plain, 
 Kind as the genial influence of the morn, 
 The chilling mist of dark despair remove, 
 And meet with equal joy my fervent love. 
 
44 
 
 ODE TO INDOLENCE. 
 
 Goddess of Ease! whose all lethargic sway 
 In drowsy fetters binds the senseless soul, 
 Whose magic power e'en mighty seas obey 
 And touch'd by thee in smoother billows roll. 
 At thine approach, in Summer's scorching heat, 
 The cattle grazing on the verdant plain 
 To some kind shade direct their weary feet, 
 T enjoy sweet sleep beneath thy placid reign. 
 
 Oh! take me, Goddess, to thy circling arms, 
 And pour sweet visions o'er my languid head ; 
 O'er ev'ry thought infuse thy magic charms, 
 And round my pillow all thy poppies spread. 
 
45 
 
 What time the wearying sun, no longer bright, 
 Now paints the western sky with streaks of red ; 
 What time the moon extends her glimmering light, 
 And dark'ning shades advise the tranquil bed ; 
 
 What time the shepherds urge to quiet folds, 
 And, weary, haste to pen their tardy sheep ; 
 What time " the air a solemn stillness holds," 
 And weary nature welcomes balmy sleep. 
 Oh, waft me, Goddess, to that peaceful shore 
 Where drowsy Silence lulls the quiet mind — 
 Where Strife's discordant voice is heard no more, 
 And -sadd'ning thoughts a potent opiate find. 
 
 Bear me propitious to some fragrant seat, 
 Some couch of nature's sweetest flow'rets made ; 
 While slumbers hover o'er the still retreat, 
 And lull each sense within the languid shade. 
 
46 
 
 Ne'er shall ambition's flame awake my breast, 
 Ne'er shall her honours gild my humble name, 
 For glory's votaries be the brass imprest, 
 And let admiring ages learn their fame. 
 
 And if the muse afford some latent fire, 
 May the dull couplet run in numbers slow — 
 Do thou a languid heaviness inspire 
 And bid them, languid as myself, to flow. 
 Soon will the muse's proudest landscape fade : 
 Soon, soon will death dispel the fleeting joy ; 
 Let not one envious wish disturb this shade — 
 One weak desire this happy ease destroy. 
 
 And Bacchus, let me not thy orgies share, 
 Far be from me thy quarrel-breeding bowl; 
 Let not the shouts of drunkards jar my ear, 
 Nor folly's noise disturb my peaceful soul. 
 
47 
 
 Now take me, Goddess, in thy circling arms, 
 And pour soft visions o'er this languid head ; 
 In every thought infuse thy magic charms, 
 And round my pillow peaceful poppies shed. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS ROSS, 
 
 ON HER PERFORMANCE OF LOUISA IN THE DE- 
 SERTER OF NAPLES. 
 
 Where merit claims, the voice of public praise, 
 
 Prone to admire, should seek its modest ear ; 
 There pour the grateful meed, and haply raise 
 
 To favour's sun what genius lov'd to rear. 
 Accept, sweet votaress of the mimic art, 
 
 The verse, which pays to worth the tribute due, 
 That worth, which holds its station in the heart* 
 
 While fancy gives it to the public view. 
 
52 
 
 With what delight I saw thee coldly meet 
 
 A satyr's arts thy gentle soul to move ; 
 Saw thee, with just contempt, beneath thy feet 
 
 Spurn the gay flow'r that told a hated love. 
 On Love's impatient wing I saw thee fly, 
 
 When from afar he trod the mountain's height ; 
 With thee my soul, dejected, heav'd a sigh, 
 
 When Russet harshly check'd thy generous flight. 
 I follow'd still through all the racking scene, 
 
 Where scorn, with brow contracted, meets thy tears; 
 While, leaning on his shoulder, smiles serene, 
 
 Thy Henry's smiles, dispel prophetic fears. 
 I saw thee next subdue the stately pride 
 
 Of regal pomp, and change its harsh command ; 
 While grateful love threw rigid form aside, 
 
 And kiss'd and press'd with joy the royal hand. 
 
53 
 
 Haste, haste, Louisa, set thy lover free ; 
 
 The iron band of slavish fetters break ! 
 Ill-fated maid ! alas, it will not be ! 
 
 The soul, convuls'd, forbids the tongue to speak. 
 When, o'er thy simply-sweet, though pallid face, 
 
 Life lost awhile its animating power, 
 It seem'd as Death had stolen an embrace, 
 
 His scythe suspending o'er so fair a flower. 
 And now reviving nature once again 
 
 Beams in thine eye, and recollective force 
 Darts o'er thy mind with mingled joy and pain, 
 
 Tracing the strong emotion to its source. 
 Ah ! where's the mandate 2 quick — thy lover dies I 
 
 Lost ! lost ! thy 'wilder'd looks proclaim : the wo, 
 The mighty wo ! hath fix'd those beauteous eyes ! 
 
 Hark ! the drum beats that leads him to the blow 1 
 v l 2 
 
54 
 
 'Tis found ; and joy the wings of lightning gave, 
 
 Hast'ning thy nimble step H avert his doom, 
 Hast'ning thy nimble step thy love to save, 
 
 To shield a warrior from th' ignoble tomb. 
 Thus far I trace thee, and description's pow'r 
 
 Tells, faintly tells, the feelings of my soul, 
 When lost, but to the drama of the hour, 
 
 Successive conflicts in my bosom roll. 
 My pulse impetuous, and my shorten'd breath, 
 
 My struggling sighs that scarce a passage gain, 
 Seem to announce that temporary death, 
 
 Which yields a respite to the bosom pain. 
 In pity wake me from this cruel dream, 
 
 Chase the delusive pow'r that veils my mind, 
 ? Ere yet I feel that agonizing scream, 
 
 And see the pardon floating on the wind. 
 
55 
 
 O may'st thou never shed misfortune's tear, 
 For thou hast virtues that are all thine own, 
 
 Virtues that grace thine every action here, 
 And plead thy cause before a nobler throne. 
 
 Still, still, thy mimic worth shall veteran plaudits claim* 
 
 And still shall youth, delighted, gentler wishes frame. 
 
56 
 
 
 TO MISS S F, 
 
 ON RETURNING THE JUVENILIA OF WITHERS; 
 I. 
 
 I thank thee for the simple lay, 
 
 Upon my memory fixt, 
 
 Which can such wholesome truths convey, 
 
 With so much sweetness mixt ; 
 
 The sting of censure pleasantness can hide, 
 
 And, as it spares our pride, 
 
 It cannot fail to please ; 
 
 For those most wrong 
 
 Will love the song, 
 
 That can rebuke with ease ! 
 
 i 
 
57 
 
 II. 
 
 And should I ever be in love, 
 
 As much I hope to be ! 
 
 His verse my mistress' faith shall prove, 
 
 How true she loveth me ; 
 
 I will not trust the wanton laughing eye 
 
 Of heedless revelry, 
 
 Nor all the tricks of art ; 
 
 But tears that flow 
 
 Perforce for wo, 
 
 When sorrow melts the heart. 
 
 III. 
 
 The smile benign when virtue gains 
 A triumph over vice ; 
 Heart, like her bosom, free from stains, 
 An earthly paradise ! 
 
58 
 
 Though she herself can never, never, slide, 
 
 Too gentle others to deride ; 
 
 With alabaster band, 
 
 Not stretch'd in show, 
 
 But to bestow 
 
 A blessing through the land. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not to coquet with other men, 
 
 But truly cherish one ; 
 
 My passion to return again, 
 
 And smile on me alone ; 
 
 Though unreserved in discourse, and free, 
 
 Her lips reserved for me ; 
 
 So shall I pleasure prove, 
 
 And find a mate 
 
 To mine estate, 
 
 Full worthy of my love. 
 
59 
 
 TO MISS E- 
 
 To shelter each other from languor and wo, 
 O come, let us hasten, my love ! 
 In solitude, courting felicity, prove 
 How poor the enjoyments the world can bestow. 
 Let baffled Ambition its splendours display, 
 
 And the wealth that attends on the great ; 
 The cravings of Avarice, what can allay 1 
 
 And Ambition, what honours can sate ? 
 Such pageants are scorn'd by the good and the wise, 
 
 These the winds of adversity blast ; 
 The fountain of virtue new rapture supplies, 
 
 And delighted we dwell on the past. 
 
6o 
 
 While culling the sweets of the meadows, I weave 
 
 The gay chaplet thy temples to grace, 
 May smiles of contentment, from morning till eve, 
 
 Irradiate that beautiful face. 
 The lily, more pale as it bends from the view, 
 
 Still shall droop to thy hand, my sweet maid ; 
 And, match'd with thy blushes, gay Flora's best hue 
 
 In the eye of thy lover shall fade. 
 More fair than the lily, more sweet than the rose, 
 O thou whom I ardently love, 
 O'er heath, mead, and woodlands, we'll rove, 
 In blissful retirement enjoying repose. 
 
61 
 
 ON THE ROSE. 
 
 Mistress of Spring's bright scene, 
 
 Half clos'd and smiling on the eye of day, 
 
 Or waving mid the air serene, 
 
 Or op'ning to the fost'ring ray, 
 
 Dispense around thy odours sweet, 
 
 Expand thy blooming leaf, 
 
 Regale the sense with choicest treat 
 
 And on the zephyr's wings, 
 
 Ere while thy praise the poet sings, 
 
 Do thou thy influence lend of nature's bloom the chief. 
 
 G 
 
62 
 
 TO THE LADIES. 
 
 Yes, ye are taught deceit by nature, 
 
 And man is mark'd your destind prey, 
 Seduction lurks in every feature, 
 
 And smiles illumine to betray ! 
 The tender bloom which paints the cheek, 
 
 The lucid lustre of the eye, 
 Are covert mischiefs which we seek, 
 
 Though well we know we seek — to die ! 
 Still pitiless, ye scatter round 
 
 In beauty's form, affection s bane ! 
 Instilling poison in the wound, 
 
 Giving for promis'd love— disdain ! 
 
63 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Sweet girl, adieu! — the Heavenly pow'r, 
 
 Who form'd thee good as thou art fair, 
 Still guard thee in the passing hour, 
 
 Still watch thee with thy lover's care. 
 To taste with thee the stolen kiss, 
 
 Which feign'd reluctance made more sweet ; 
 To feel confession's rapturous bliss, 
 
 When tell-tale eyes in silence meet, 
 Alas ! no more must glad my heart ! 
 
 No more must swell each beating vein ! 
 My joys are fled ! for ah ! we part ! 
 
 Absence begins his frozen reign. 
 
64 
 
 In vain, my love, would Prudence swell 
 
 His giant form, when thou wert near ; 
 With thee my Emma's bliss must dwell, 
 
 And caution flies with coward fear. 
 Now, when divided far by space, 
 
 May love still whisper soft my name ! 
 May love my bosom's heaving trace ! 
 
 May memory fan the grateful flame ! 
 Upon thine ear still dwell my sigh ! 
 
 And still, as recollection turns, 
 To one, whose passion faithful burns, 
 
 May pity's tear-drop swell thine eye ! 
 
65 
 
 TO EMMA. 
 
 All is forgotten, Emma, when I see 
 
 Those sovereign charms ! 
 
 Heaven, life, and fortune, all annexed to thee ! 
 
 My paradise thine arms ! 
 
 My life thy smile ! 
 
 For should'st thou prove untrue, 
 
 Who didst so sweet beguile, 
 
 The change to death my heart would rue : 
 
 Possessing thee — give fortune to the wind ! 
 
 Its frowns are placid all, if thou art kind. 
 
 Thou art to me each precious treasure won ; 
 
 Heaven ! life ! and fortune ! all in one. 
 
 G 2 
 
66 
 
 TO EMMA, 
 
 How many sighs, how many fruitless tears, 
 
 Perfidious Emma, has your coldness cost ! 
 Are then too true my sadly-boding fears ] 
 
 Of broken vows is the remembrance lost? 
 The chosen swain, I doubt not, flatters well ; 
 
 But trust him not ! another shares your sway ! 
 Love's mother, here, would find no place to dwell ; 
 
 And I, thy subject, live but to obey ! 
 The broken vow, the hot tear's briny trace, 
 
 Blights not that bloom, nor damps that sparkling eye ; 
 Come truant, come, resume your rightful place ; 
 
 Love finds excuse for crimes of deeper dye. 
 
67 
 
 # 
 
 TO MYRA. 
 
 Lovely, and youthful, like thyself, 
 
 Miranda's rival beauties shine, 
 More to perplex, the mimic elf 
 
 Has forg'd love's fetters, just like thine ! 
 Alike each maid inflames my heart, 
 
 From each, sweet poison I receive ; 
 I can't distinguish either's dart, 
 
 Whom most I love, or who deceive ! 
 
68 
 
 TO A COURTEZAN. 
 
 One thing is wanting to complete thy face, 
 Where blended rose and lily vie ; 
 
 One matchless, sweet, enchanting grace! 
 What is it ? — tell me!— Modesty. 
 
69 
 
 IN A WOOD. 
 
 Meek Peace here holds her silent reign, 
 Along these paths she loves to rove ; 
 Where nought is heard but the sweet strain, 
 The feathery songsters pour to love. 
 
 Sweet partners of the sylvan scene, 
 
 Ye have not half my love, I ween ! 
 
 Not all that makes the forest ring ; 
 
 And if ye swell your little throats, 
 With all your softest, sweetest notes, 
 My love is greater far than ye can sing. 
 
70 
 
 IN RETURN FOR A ROSE-BUD. 
 
 In the luxuriant red that glows 
 On the soft bosom of the rose, 
 Imagination's power may view 
 Thy lip of lively vermil hue ; 
 The fragrance which, exhaling thence, 
 Strikes deep upon the ravished sense, 
 To memory brings the rapturous bliss 
 Thou gav'st me in th' impassion'd kiss. 
 
n 
 
 WRITTEN IN A POCKET-BOOK. 
 
 Thou silent friend, in whose pure breast was stor'd 
 Each secret wish, each sweetly-anxious pain ; 
 
 Blot from thy page the maiden's once ador'd, 
 And let my Silvia's name alone remain. 
 
 Be thou the trusty witness of my love, 
 Let every leaf confirm my just decree ; 
 
 Then, wheresoe'er my longing eyes shall rove, 
 Their dearest rapture may be found in thee. 
 
72 
 
 ON MISS DAY. 
 
 To art alone, my soul refus'd her choice, 
 In vain untutor'd nature claim'd my voice ; 
 But grace and beauty, both combin'd, 
 Surpris*d and fixt my wavering mind ; 
 No longer dubious where to pay 
 My vows ! — I hail the rising Day, 
 
73 
 
 ACROSTIC ON MISS 
 
 A H ! much too oft hath love usurpt the lyre, 
 N or once the lay to sacred friendship giv'n ; 
 
 N ow strike the chord ! now sing the hallow'd fire, 
 A nd praise the dearest bliss bestowM by heavn. 
 
 B almy soother of our care, 
 
 A nxious every joy to prove, 
 L ending wo an aspect fair, 
 D ear to virtue, dear to love ; 
 W isdom hails thee for her own, 
 I ncense burns before thy throne, 
 N or asks a bliss but springs from thee alone. 
 h 
 
74 
 
 AN EXTEMPORE 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. HOWARD. 
 
 The hand which op'd the prison's massy grate, 
 - Which freedom to the wo-worn captive gave, 
 Now moulders into dust ! relentless Fate 
 Ne'er struck so rich a victim to the grave, 
 
 Yet, though unnerv'd his hand, though clos'd his eye, 
 His soul superior, seeks its kindred sky, 
 
 Where angels give the crown his virtues claim 
 While the fond muse records his deathless name. 
 
75 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 If lock'd in soft and sweet repose, 
 
 (The balm which heaven assigns to wo,) 
 
 Thy soul ideal pleasure knows, 
 And gentle passions calmly glow, 
 
 Still, still entranc'd in slumber lie, 
 Till morn invades the eastern sky. 
 
 But if contending passions tear 
 That bosom form'd for love alone ; 
 
 If haggard grief, and wild despair, 
 Torment thee with fictitious moan ; 
 
 O quit the scene of misery, 
 
 And wake, dear maid, to love and me. 
 
76 
 
 CANZONET 
 
 Ask why a blush o'erspreads the rose, 
 Its velvet leaves in crimson dyed ; 
 
 Why, round, the busy zephyr blows, 
 And waves the flower in stately pride : 
 
 Ask why the lilies, drooping, shed . 
 
 The dew-drop from each pallid leaf; 
 Why each reclines its beauteous head, 
 
 As weigh'd to earth with bitter grief : 
 
 Emma vouchsaf 'd the rose a kiss ! 
 
 The modest lily she disdained ! 
 Who would not weep such joy to miss 1 
 
 Who would not blush, such joy obtained I 
 
77 
 
 THE FRIENDS, 
 
 TO THEIR OPPOSITE NEIGHBOURS, 
 
 Ah ! forbear, in mercy, ladies ! 
 
 'Tis enough we own your sway ; 
 Neither such a hectoring blade is 
 
 Longer on the field to stay. 
 
 Mark'd by elegance and fashion, 
 Not to love were to be blind ; 
 
 Soon, too soon, the subtle passion 
 Chains an inexperienced mind. 
 
 H 2 
 
78 
 
 With such dexf rous art you wheedle, 
 Half-averted looks and smiles, 
 
 Hearts insnaring with your needle, 
 Music, romping, and such wiles. 
 
 Now, while mirth and harmless story 
 Stay the lagging foot of time, 
 We, your slaves, who much adore ye, 
 Tell our loves in doggrel rhyme. 
 
 Ladies hear, in pity, hear us ! 
 
 Spare the anguish of each heart ! 
 Yield to love, you need not fear us. 
 
 Few so young are vers'd in art* 
 
79 
 
 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 i 
 
 Cease not, sweet bird, nor fear the tread 
 That seeks thy favourite tree ; 
 
 My soul to solitude I wed, 
 And mingle woes with thee. 
 
 This awful gloom, these sombre shades, 
 
 Chase folly far away, 
 And scarce the breath of eve invades 
 
 Thy melancholy lay. 
 
 Like thee, I mourn a faithless mate ! 
 
 Thy bosom courts the thorn ! 
 Mine, tun'd to wo by Emma's hate, 
 
 Knows but to wail her scorn ! 
 
80 
 
 Swell then, sweet bird, thy plaintive throat, 
 
 For me her pity move ; 
 For, ah ! say softest, sweetest note, 
 
 Is taught by luckless love ! 
 
81 
 
 SONG. 
 
 In vain my widowed heart may seek. 
 Love's faithful passion to renew ; 
 
 Health glows no more upon my cheek, 
 Or joy, dispersing sorrow's dew. 
 
 And if awhile, by art upheld, 
 
 Again my soul's sweet peace returns, 
 
 In dreams, with early passion swell'd, 
 For shadowy bliss my bosom burns. 
 
 Pleas'd with the mimic joys of night, 
 Again I heave the tender sigh ; 
 
 Shrink from the glare of coming light, 
 And greet with tears the morn's mild eye. 
 

 8f 
 
 SONG. 
 
 If, while I trace the thought, that from her eye 
 In beauty beams, I breathe with anxious pain, 
 
 If this be love ! 'tis now I heave love's sigh, 
 And feel the madd'ning flame in every vein ! 
 
 If Hope I court, how quickly she retreats ! 
 
 How soon envelop'd in the clouds of Care ! 
 While Love, in haste, collects his scattered sweets, 
 
 And points, with Mischiefs smile, to wan Despair. 
 
 Go, hide thy roses, urchin — I can live 
 
 Without thy smiles— nor do I heed thy scorn ! 
 
 A nobler crown the god of wit can give ! 
 The god of love with roses blends the thorn. 
 
83 
 
 TO EMMA, 
 
 ON RETURNING A LOCK OF HAIR, 
 
 Take back the gift which once I priz'd, 
 And felt a pleasure in possessing ; 
 
 But, like its mistress now, despis'd, 
 
 Is more, much more, a curse than blessing. 
 
 Such is our frame, our nature such, 
 A few short hours of life are o'er, 
 
 And that which I admir'd so much, 
 Can now delight the sense no more ! 
 
 Yet on my love no blame can rest, 
 I thought her good ! I knew her fair ! 
 
 And warm'd a viper in my breast, 
 That with a sting repaid my care ! 
 
84 
 
 THE RESOLVE. 
 
 Say, shall I have the sigh of pain, 
 And drop the silent tear in vain I 
 Say, shall I seek the gloomy grove, 
 And murmur to the winds my love ! 
 Or shall I, stretch'd upon the earth, 
 Cursing the hour that gave me birth, 
 Rail at those stars whose trembling light 
 Presided o'er that baleful night ! 
 Ah, no ! let scorn her scorn repay 
 Who tun'd to grief my fruitless lay, 
 Who bade me waste my youth in tears, 
 Who nipt the promise of my years ! 
 Vain girl ! thy petty triumph's past I 
 Such fetters were not forgd to last ! 
 
85 
 
 Unbind this willow from my brow ! 
 Let jolly Bacchus hear my vow ! 
 The blushing rose, the mantling vine, 
 Shall round my jocund temples twine ; 
 All shall be mirth and jollity, 
 With feasting, drinking, revelry. 
 No more I'll tell the waves and wind, 
 That Chloe's faithless or unkind ; 
 No more I curse, amidst my tears, 
 The birth-night spangles of the spheres, 
 And harmless harbinger of day ; 
 For I was more in fault than they ! 
 Thus rousing from my dream supine, 
 I grasp the goblet charg'd with wine ; 
 Wine is the Lethe of the brain, 
 The foil upon the edge of pain ! 
 
86 
 
 Hark ! — Cupid whispers — Daphne sighs 
 For that which Chloe's pride denies ; 
 To her alone be thou inclin'd, 
 Who bears to thee a willing mind. 
 Can the fierce lustre of an eye, 
 Sparkling with anger, cause that sigh? 
 Or can an arch'd and polish'd brow, 
 Frowning with hate, occasion wo 1 
 No ! be the nymph as kind as fair, 
 Or, trust me, she's not worth a care. 
 
87 
 
 TO MISS S- 
 
 Wonders arise on ev'ry side ! 
 
 Florella's locks are grey ! 
 Let none, sweet maid, the change deride, 
 
 Since, wheresoe'er we stray, 
 
 Still Nature, sporting, meets the eye, 
 
 In varied forms assails ; 
 And Alpine snows are seen on high, 
 
 When spring laughs in the vales. 
 
 Unblighted by the breath of time, 
 
 That auburn ringlet fades ; 
 For, midst thy summer's roseate prime, 
 
 A random blast pervades. 
 
38 
 
 
 EPILOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN BY A YOUNG LADY AFTER THE PER- 
 FORMANCE OF MATILDA. 
 
 Without] I plead your cause, my friends! nay, now, 
 
 I trust 
 You will excuse — [advancing] Well, if I must, I must ! 
 Since then for me the task is thought expedient, 
 Ladies, I'm yours — Sirs, I'm your most obedient ! 
 Trembling, behind, my fellow-actors wait 
 To hear me plead, and you decide our fate ; 
 Small hopes their council gave, I can assure ye, 
 Yet still to you we look — our judge and jury ; 
 Not on our merits rest a falling cause, 
 But on your mercy lean, to gain applause. 
 
 
89 , 
 
 Yet, ere I ope my brief, pray look about ; 
 If here a critic lurks — do turn him out. 
 These are the marks by which you'll surely find 
 The horrid monster : — first, he's almost blind, 
 Or, if he yet retains a jaundic'd eye, 
 It scowls on merit! can you find him 1 try. 
 Yet stop, perhaps a stratagem were best ; 
 Smile on him, ladies, wake his torpid breast, 
 Catch the queer thing, that, held in passion's net, 
 Admiring beauties, he may faults forget. 
 What, though our author gives no bloody sight, 
 And kindly stops the murders of to-night, 
 Yet do we feel the terrors we have play'd, 
 And Morcar starts — oh ! be it at a shade ! 
 Your frowns will cause our trembling hearts to bleed, 
 Your censure make — a tragedy indeed ! 
 I 2 
 
90 
 
 Your verdict then ; have we done well or ill ? 
 FaiFd we in power, or in dramatic skill 1 
 One, only one, request shall close our cause, 
 If ill, give mercy— and, if well— applause. 
 
 
91 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Soon fled is the joy I so priz'd, 
 
 And nought but love's torments remain ; 
 All beauty but thine I despis'd, 
 
 And rejected all love with disdain. 
 Yet thou, cruel maid, couldst betray, 
 
 Thy boasted affection how weak ; 
 Those vows to another couldst pay, 
 
 While my kiss was yet warm on thy cheek. 
 
 So gaily the blossoms of love, 
 
 Will flourish in youth's early morn ; 
 
 An hour may its beauties remove, 
 While ages but nourish the thorn. 
 
/ 
 
 I 
 
 92 
 
 II. 
 
 " When the river shall cease, from its source, 
 
 " To supply the sweet stream on our plain, 
 " My love shall relax in its force, 
 
 " And my cruelty, shepherd, give pain ;" 
 Ah ! Sylvia, the tale I believ'd ; 
 
 The river continues to flow, 
 But thou my fond heart hast deceiv'd, 
 
 And laden my bosom with wo. 
 
 So gaily the blossoms of love, 
 
 Will flourish in youth's early morn ; ~ 
 
 An hour may its beauties remove, 
 While ages but nourish the thorn. 
 
93 
 
 AN APOLOGY 
 
 FOR NOT WRITING AN ODE ON THE BIRTH-DAY 
 OF MISS T . 
 
 I. 
 
 As I prest the soft couch in the slumber of wo, 
 
 And dreamt of what fate had deny'd, 
 Love's master appear 'd with his arrows and bow, 
 
 Resolv'd the sweet languor to chide, 
 
 II. 
 
 " O ever with graceful decorums at war, 
 " Twas thine (cried the urchin) to raise 
 
 " (Ere a sun-beam had shot from Apollo's bright car) 
 " The soul-soothing accents of praise. 
 
III. 
 
 " The nymphs of Parnassus their delegate send, 
 
 " To waken their indolent bard ; 
 " Prithee rouse, my good youth, to their mandates attend, 
 
 " Their smiles shall your labours reward/' 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alas ! I mistook what young Cupid required, 
 
 Of Emma the eulogy rung, 
 'Twas the traitor himself the fond blunder inspir'd, 
 
 'Twas he taught that theme to my tongue ! 
 
 I sang of the rose, and I sang of the thorn, 
 That my early affections betrayd ; 
 
 x\nd liken'd the wound I receivd to her scorn, 
 And the flow'r to the beautiful maid. 
 
 
95 
 VI. 
 
 Of the lovely delusion that beam'd on my soul, 
 When Emma vouchsaf 'd a sweet smile ; 
 
 Of the heart-rending tortures no spell could control, 
 When I found it the offspring of guile. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thus sorrow's dear luxury softened my mind ; 
 
 But he the fond story reprov d ! 
 " I know that thy mistress, he cry'd, is unkind, 
 
 " And I know that in vain thou hast lov'd ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " I ask thee to sing of another, as fair 
 " As the maid who thy senses beguil'd ; 
 
 " Whom the muses and graces have cherish'd with care, 
 " On whose birth all the virtues have smil'd !" 
 
96 I 
 
 IX. 
 
 Not blind was the urchin, as poets will feign, 
 
 For mirth sat enthron'd in his eyes ; 
 And, with somewhat of anger, cried, " cease thy fond 
 strain, 
 
 A truce with thy tears and thy sighs. 
 
 X. 
 
 What, silent ! not one energetical note 
 
 The soul of attention to warm ! 
 No sound in an escort of rapture to float, 
 
 And tell of each eloquent charm ! 
 
 XL 
 
 I gave thee a theme might have thaw'd the cold breast 
 
 Of Devotion ! the Stoic inspir'd ! 
 Have rous'd the sunk priest from his indolent rest, 
 
 And the heart of chill apathy fir'd ! 
 
97 
 XII. 
 
 Break, break, thy false lyre, with the muses thou'rt crost ! 
 
 Hence, hence, with that face full of care ! 
 To true sense of merit and beauty thou'rt lost, 
 
 And mark'd for the tooth of despair " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus said, on his soft downy pinions he flew, 
 
 With a smile of disdain on his face ; 
 The beautiful vision soon shrunk from my view, 
 
 And left me in tears and disgrace. 
 
98 
 
 IRREGULAR ODE. 
 
 FROM THE AUTHOR TO HIS MISTRESS AFTER 
 REFUSAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 I turn'd so pale, when first the news I heard, 
 
 Pale as I could, my love, with my complexion ! 
 Sunk were mine eyes, and blue my grisly beard, 
 
 And bent my beetle brows in sad reflection. 
 My carcass on the hard, hard, ground I threw ; 
 
 Awhile the lamb-like softness of my soul 
 
 Was lost amidst the angry tempest's howl ; 
 Even you, my fair, whom I have lov'd so true, 
 
 I call'd a little imp of evil, 
 
 More false, more treacherous than the devil ! 
 
99 
 
 I dare say, now, you thought that I should die ! 
 
 'Tis pity maid so fair should be mistaken ! 
 Alas ! I fear you will but gain a sigh, 
 
 A tear or two, some angry looks and curses, 
 And, if the muse be kind, some spiteful verses : 
 But death ! — no, no ! my pride will save my bacon. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not but I might, perchance, in sullen mood, 
 
 This goodly throat with hempen cord adorning, 
 Dangle from some tall poplar in the wood, 
 
 Dance to the breeze on a November morning ; . 
 'Twould be so lover-like, to seek my death 
 On th' anniversary of that same hour, 
 When, in the pride of beauty's future pow'r ; 
 My infant mistress first inhal'd her breath : 
 
100 
 
 I might, perchance, seek lethe in some stream, 
 
 Dive for that bliss which I had lost above, 
 Become of village nurse the midnight theme, 
 
 Or form the ballad of " Rejected Love/' 
 Now, whether I'm fastidious, or in fear, 
 
 I want the heart to quit this scene of trouble : 
 Hope gives a hint there still is something near, 
 
 And like a child I wish to grasp the bubble. 
 She whispers too, I may have better luck yet ; 
 So, if you please, I will not kick the bucket. 
 
 III. 
 
 I know you wish the village-boys to hoot, 
 
 " Look ! look ! there goes the poor desponding poet ! 
 
 There goes the dangler on a petticoat !" 
 
 All this you wish, you cruel jade, you know it ! 
 
 
101 
 
 But I shall baulk you, mistress, on my life ! 
 
 For though tempestuous scorn now clouds me over, 
 Some future sun may shine, some fairer wife 
 
 May tender consolation to your lover. 
 Mean time, while sweet Thalia is my muse, 
 
 I'll make to this same Death a stout resistance, 
 Brushing at early dawn the healthful dews. 
 
 To keep his scare-crow worship at a distance. 
 
 K 2 
 
102 
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. WIGNELL AT THE OPENING 
 THE NEW THEATRE IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Past is my toil, and fled each anxious pain, 
 Since I behold my friends, my home again; 
 How oft, when far away, my fancy rov'd, 
 
 Lur'd to this spot by every scene I lov'd ; 
 
 Here on these boards I trod in waking dream, 
 
 And if I talk'd, this spot was still my theme. 
 
 I painted oft, in colours just and true, 
 
 This glorious scene, so grateful to my view ; 
 
 My pulse would quicken, and my bosom glow; 
 
 But the true joy I never felt till now. 
 
103 
 
 Hard was our fate to be condem'd to roam, 
 Though sweet our exile, from our destin'd home ; 
 Warm are our thanks to you, who dar'd to brave 
 Our foe's worst shafts, the drooping muse to save- 
 Before whose phalanx superstition fled, 
 And fell-fanatacism bow'd her head. 
 
 But I forget 
 
 I come to plead for others, to engage 
 Your gen'rous care, to aid a rising stage ; 
 I come to ask, and for a numerous band 
 By me invited from a distant land, 
 Who have to me their future fate consign'd— 
 Friends, parents, country, all they left behind : 
 Grant but this boon, no sigh of sad regret 
 Shall reach the distant shore, no tears shall wet 
 This happy land of promise and increase, 
 Save the glad tears of gratitude and peace, - 
 
104 
 
 
 I see, I read in each approving smile, 
 
 A kind assent 1 have not lost my toil : 
 
 For them accept my thanks — fancy alone, 
 
 In richest efforts, can conceive my own. 
 
 Nor let the critic, with fastidious eye 
 
 And penetrating search, our faults descry, 
 
 While yet the muse aspires on infant wing 
 
 « The eagle suffers little birds to sing ;" 
 
 The trembling novice, ere matur'd by time, 
 
 Must fall far short of judgment's happy prime ; 
 
 Dispell'd the doubts and dangers he has fear'd, 
 
 You may admire the genius you have rear'd ; 
 
 Great by your favour grown, the rising age 
 
 Shall bless the efforts of a moral stage : 
 
 The stage in purity, the stage, refin'd, 
 
 Clear'd of its dross, may charm, instruct mankind. 
 
105 
 
 Freedom new force from scenes heroic gains, 
 The stage impedes not, but its cause maintains : 
 Virtue may here its brightest lesson learn, 
 And scouted vice its ugliness discern ; 
 Our precepts, well directed, reach the heart, 
 And to act well shall be a gen'ral part, 
 
106 
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 
 FOR THE BENEFIT INTENDED IN AID TO THE 
 ESTABLISHMENT OF A FUND FOR THE SUP- 
 PORT OF THOSE WHOM AGE OR INFIRMITY 
 MAY OBLIGE TO RETIRE FROM THE STAGE. 
 
 When peace revisited this happy shore, 
 And war's loud clarion rent the air no more, 
 When plenty from her cornucopia pour'd 
 Her golden produce on the festive board, 
 Science reviv'd, and in her polish'd train 
 The muses of the drama held their reign— 
 Shelter'd by you, who ceaseless seek to give 
 Content, their happy, grateful votaries live. 
 
 
107 
 
 This night a solemn care employs our art, 
 To shelter age, to blunt misfortune's dart, 
 When feebly creeps the current through the vein, 
 And the slow, tottering step proclaims life's wane, 
 To cheer as yet a little while he stays 
 And gild the veteran's few remaining days ; 
 Ere yet the fires of genius faintly speak, 
 Or the quick hectic spreads the furrow'd cheek, 
 Ere yet the beaming eye is languid grown 
 Or dimm'd with tears for sorrows all its own — 
 This done, the cheering smiles of former days, 
 The loud, resounding peal of joyous praise, 
 By fancy's magic rise again to view, 
 The faded senses all their bliss renew, 
 The cordial thought is round his heart entwin'd, 
 And his last breath in grateful prayer resign'd, 
 
 FINIS. 
 
i M 
 
 [ 
 
1 
 
 
 L*Bj L 
 
 ?8 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process.] 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: March 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologie 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIO 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724) 779-2111 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 150 987 1 4