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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Elegies and Other Small Poems
+
+Author: Matilda Betham
+
+Release Date: February 20, 2004 [eBook #11193]
+[Most recently updated: June 24, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS
+
+BY
+
+MATILDA BETHAM.
+
+
+
+_To the Hon. LADY JERNINGHAM_.
+
+_Madam_,
+
+_The many endearing instances of regard I have experienced since I had
+the honor of being known to your Ladyship, while they impress my mind
+with gratitude, flatter my hopes with a favourable reception of the
+following miscellanies, which, under your patronage, I venture to submit
+to the public_.
+
+_Considered as the first essays of an early period of life, and as the
+exercises of leisure, my wishes suggest, that they may not, perhaps, be
+found wholly unworthy of attention; but whatever be their fate with
+others, I shall feel myself much gratified, if, in your Ladyship's
+judgment, they may be allowed some merit_.
+
+_Though there cannot be a greater pleasure than dwelling on the
+excellencies of a distinguished and amiable character, I know not that
+it would be permitted me to indulge my present inclination with
+enumerating those virtues and endowments which confessedly distinguish
+your Ladyship, but my wishes I may offer, and that you may long, very
+long, continue to bless your family, to adorn your rank, and console
+the unhappy, is the sincere prayer of_
+
+_Your Ladyship's most obliged humble servant, MATILDA BETHAM_.
+
+_Stonham, Nov. 20, 1797._
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+
+If, in the following pages, there may be found any unacknowledged
+imitations, I hope I shall not be censured as an intentional plagiarist;
+for it has been my wish, however I may be esteemed presumptuous, not
+to be unjust; and I sometimes fear lest an imperfect recollection of
+another's idea should have appeared to me as a dawning thought of my
+own. Wherever I could recollect a similar passage, although unnoticed
+at the time I wrote, it has been either altered or acknowledged.
+
+I commit these trifles to the press with the anxiety necessarily
+resulting from a desire that they may not be deemed altogether
+worthless. Though the natural partiality of the writer may be somewhat
+strengthened by the commendations of friends and parents, I am well
+aware that no apology can give currency to imperfection.
+
+I have not vainly attempted to ascend to the steeps of Parnassus. If,
+wandering at its foot, I have mistaken perishable shrubs for never-dying
+flowers, the errors of a youthful mind, first viewing the fascinating
+regions of fancy, will not be rigidly condemned; for wherever there
+is true taste, there will be genuine candour.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+  To ----, with Arthur and Albina
+  Arthur and Albina
+  The Fraternal Duel
+  Lines in a Letter to A.R.C.
+  The Lonely Walk
+  The Outlaw
+  Invitation
+  Whitsun-Monday
+  Philemon
+  On a Fan
+  To Simplicity
+  The Terrors of Guilt
+  Cen'lin, Prince of Mercia
+  Rhapsody
+  Human Pleasure or Pain
+  The Complaint of Fancy
+  On the Eve of Departure from O----
+  To M.I.
+  Translation from Metastasio
+  ---------- from Della Casa
+  Editha
+  To M.I.
+  Written in Zimmerman's Solitude
+  To the Memory of Mr. Agostino Isola
+  To the Nuns of Bodney
+  Written in London
+  Fragment
+  Fragment
+  Written April 18, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+To ---- WITH ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+1794.
+
+
+Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey,
+Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray:
+Let Criticism then her distance keep,
+And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep;
+For, let whatever sentence be their due,
+I feel I cannot censure bear from you.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the battle, on a
+hill, where, at its commencement, she had retired to make vows to heaven
+for his success.--Evening_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+
+Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale,
+  And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn;
+And yet I hear not in the silent vale,
+  A sound to tell me Arthur does return.
+
+Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing!
+  Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils!
+Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing,
+  And loud applause repay successful toils!
+
+Reward the flame, ye great celestial pow'rs,
+  The noble flame that in his bosom glows!
+Inspire him, Druids, from your holy bow'rs,
+  With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes![1]
+
+With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm,
+  And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly,
+Make him terrific by some potent charm,
+  And add new lightening to his piercing eye!
+
+Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame,
+  The Roman banners may less proudly flow,
+Then he may humble their detested name,
+  And their high plumes wave o'er' a British brow!
+
+Then may his chariot,[2] wheeling o'er the plain,
+  Hurl death and desolation all around,
+While his intrepid front appals their train,
+  And make our proud invaders bite the ground!
+
+But yet I hear no lively foot advance;
+  No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear!'
+And I may carve this eagle-darting lance
+  For one, whose voice I never more shall hear!
+
+Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies,
+  Nor heav'n, propitious, smil'd upon my pray'r;
+And ah! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise
+  To plunge me in the horrors of despair!
+
+Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield--
+  Alas! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care:
+And, what can valour, when th'extended shield[3]
+  May leave, so oft, his gen'rous bosom bare?
+
+Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain?
+  Can you in vain extend your spotless hands?
+Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain,
+  And save its altars from unhallow'd bands?
+
+Oh yes! I'll fear no more! The sacred groves,[4]
+  That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies;
+Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves,
+  Hidden from weak, unconsecrated eyes:
+
+Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse,
+  Piercing, with uprais'd eyes, each mist that shrouds,
+And, listening, catch the heav'n-dictated verse,
+  By airs etherial wailed from the clouds:
+
+It ne'er can be--but hark! I hear the sound
+  Of some one's step; yet not the youth I love;
+He would have flown, and scarcely touch'd the ground,
+  Not ling'ring thus, with weary caution, move.
+
+The heavy wanderer approaches nigh,
+  But the drear darkness skreens him from my views
+Ah, gracious heav'n! it was my Arthur's sigh,
+  Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew.
+
+Oh speak! inform me what I have to fear!
+  Speak, and relieve my doubting, trembling heart!
+To thy Albina, with a tongue sincere,
+  A portion of thy wretchedness impart!"
+
+"Sweet maid," replied the wounded, dying youth,
+  In accents mournful, tremulous and slow,
+"Yes, I will ever answer thee with truth,
+  While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow.
+
+We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire,
+  The tow'ring, sacrilegious eagle[5] flew;
+Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire,
+  When from the field indignant they withdrew.
+
+But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue,
+  The glowing beauties of that joyful sight;
+Ill can my breast, with keenest torture wrung,
+  Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight.
+
+To others then I leave the envied strain,
+  Which shall for ages rend the British air;
+Nor will thy partial ear expect, in vain,
+  To find the humble name of Arthur there.
+
+I go, while now the victory is warm,
+  The just reward of valour to obtain;
+Soon I return, clad in a nobler form,[6]
+  Again to triumph, and again be slain.
+
+Ah! then, my dear Albina, cease to grieve,
+  Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine;
+For, though my present favour'd form I leave,
+  This constant heart shall still be only thine.
+
+Alas! e'en now I feel the icy hand
+  Of hasty death, press down my swelling heart;
+E'en now I hear a sweet aerial band,
+  Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart.
+
+Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn,
+  Remember that he bravely, nobly died;
+Remember that he quickly will return,
+  And claim again his lov'd, his destin'd bride."
+
+As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled,
+  And parting life streamed forth at every vein,
+His quivering lip, in whispers, softly said,
+  "Remember, Arthur dies to live again!"
+
+"Oh stay, dear youth!" the hapless maiden cries,
+  My best-lov'd Arthur, but one moment stay!
+And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes,
+  So lately lighted at the torch of day.
+
+Ah! yet once more, that look of tender love,
+  Of fond regret, my Arthur, let me view!
+Let one more effort thy affection, prove,
+  And bid me once, once more, a long adieu.
+
+Now, ere the moon withdraws her feeble light,
+  Ope yet again on me thy fading eye!
+He hears not! memory has ta'en her flight,
+  And vanish'd with that last convulsive sigh.
+
+Why did I variegated wreaths prepare,
+  To pay the conqueror every honor due?
+Or, why, with fillets, bind my flowing hair,
+  And tinge my arms of the bright azure hue?[7]
+
+Oh! must this constant bosom beat no more?
+  This skilful hand no more direct the spear?
+Must lost Albina still her fate deplore,
+  And ever drop the unavailing tear?
+
+Must I no more that lovely face review,
+  Expressing each emotion of the mind?
+No more repeat a sweetly sad adieu?
+  No more gay chaplets on his forehead bind?
+
+His forehead, high and fair, with martial grace,
+  And bold, free curls of glossy chesnut crown'd;
+The full, dark eye-brow which adorn'd his face,
+  O'erwhelming foes with terror as he frown'd.
+
+His voice, though strong, harmoniously clear,
+  No more shall fill Albina with delight;
+No more shall sooth her still-attentive ear,
+  And make her fancy every sorrow light.
+
+Farewell to love, to happiness, and joy!
+  Yet will I cull the summer's choicest bloom;
+Funereal chaplets shall my time employ,
+  And wither daily on my Arthur's tomb."
+
+As thus she mourn'd, with bitterest woe opprest,
+  A ray of light illumin'd all the grove,
+And a consoling voice the fair addrest,
+  In the soft accents of parental love.
+
+Though still she clasp'd her hero's valued corse,
+  She slowly rais'd her languid, streaming eyes,
+And own'd astonishment's resistless force,
+  Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize.
+
+The form was clad in robes of purest white,
+  That swept with solemn dignity the ground;
+Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night,
+  Which reign'd in awful majesty around.
+
+The silver beard did reverence demand,[8]
+  And told her that a holy bard was there,
+Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand,
+  Which threw a lustre on the waving hair.
+
+His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth,
+  United with the wisdom of the sage;
+And speaking, with the simple voice of truth,
+  He blended the solemnity of age.
+
+"Arise! thou loveliest of misfortune's train,
+  And cease these weak, desponding tears to shed;
+The soft effusions of thy grief restrain,
+  Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead.
+
+The youth you mourn, far from these scenes of woe,
+  To worlds of never-ending joy is flown;
+Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow,
+  And his fair temples wear a princely crown.
+
+Ah then, presumptuous! question not the skies,
+  Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore;
+Attend to this, and cease your fruitless sighs,
+  You soon shall meet where you can part no more."[9]
+
+Awe-struck, his sacred wisdom she confest,
+  Which pour'd sweet consolation on her mind;
+She cross'd her blood-stain'd hands upon her breast,
+  And bow'd her humble, grateful head, resign'd.
+
+AUGUST 27, 1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 1: Alluding to the armour of the Romani.]
+
+[Footnote 2: The Britons fought in low chariots, which they could leave
+and re-ascend at pleasure.]
+
+[Footnote 3: The shield being their only armour, when held out to
+protect a wounded or dying friend, left them defenceless.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The groves were consecrated to the celebration of religious
+mysteries.]
+
+[Footnote 5: The Roman standard.]
+
+[Footnote 6: The Druids are said to have preached the doctrine of
+transmigration, in order to inspire their warriors with the greater
+contempt of death.]
+
+[Footnote 7: The practice of staining themselves with blue was common
+among the Britons.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The people, excepting the priests, shaved off all the hair
+from their faces, but what grew on the upper lip.]
+
+[Footnote 9: This equivocal manner of speech may be supposed natural
+enough in one of this order of priests, who, it is said, held a more
+refined idea of a future state than they preached to the people.]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
+    That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame;
+  For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
+
+SHENSTONE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE FRATERNAL DUEL.
+
+
+'Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
+  I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
+Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
+  Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
+
+No more may I its sparkling glories view!
+  No more its piercing lustre meet my eye!
+On night's black wings my only comfort flew;
+  At breath of morn I sicken and I die.
+
+Where can I fly? In what sequester'd clime
+  Does darkness ever hold her ebon reign?
+Where woeful dirges measure out the time,
+  And endless echoes breathe the sullen strain.
+
+Where dreary mountains rear their low'ring heads,
+  To pierce the heavy and umbrageous clouds;
+And where the cavern dewy moisture sheds,
+  And night's thick veil the guilty mourner shrouds.
+
+There, lost in horrors, I might vent my sighs;
+  To open misery myself resign;
+Might snatch each torturing vision ere it flies,
+  And feast on prospects desolate as mine.
+
+Oh! let me thither quickly take my flight,
+  And chuse a favourite and a final seat,
+In scenes which would each gentler mind affright,
+  But for my guilt affords a fit retreat.
+
+There, where no ray, no gleam of light could come,
+  There, and there only, could I find relief;
+There might I ruminate on Edward's doom,
+  And lose myself in luxury of grief.
+
+And, as it is, though joys around me shine,
+  Though pleasure here erects her dazzling brow,
+Wrapt in despondence, will I droop and pine,
+  And tears of anguish shall for ever flow.
+
+Oh Edward! could'st thou see this alter'd frame,
+  Which youthful graces lately did adorn!
+Could'st thou behold, and think me still the same,
+  Thy once gay friend, thus hapless and forlorn?
+
+The cheek, so late by ruddy health embrown'd,
+  Now pale and faded with incessant tears;
+The eye, which once elate, disdain'd the ground,
+  Now sunk and languid in its orb appears.
+
+Oh! never, never will I cease to grieve!
+  And sure repentance pardon may obtain!
+Can woe unfeign'd incite heav'n to relieve
+  A wretch opprest with agonizing pain?
+
+Ah no! my hands are stain'd with brother's blood!
+  A father's curses load my sinking head!
+I wish to die, but dare not pass the flood,
+  For there, as well as here, my hopes are fled.
+
+Sleep, which was meant to chase away the thought,
+  To lull the sound of dissonant despair,
+Appears to me with added terrors fraught,
+  And my torn heart can find no refuge there.
+
+If, for a moment, I its fetters wear,
+  And its soft pressure these pale eyes controul,
+I injur'd Emma's just reproaches hear,
+  Or Edward's form appals my shrinking soul.
+
+When in those transitory sleeps I lie,
+  I oft his beauteous, bleeding form review;
+A mild, benignant lustre lights his eye,
+  As come to bid a friend a last adieu.
+
+I start, I shudder at his tuneful voice,
+  When it, in soothing whispers, meets my ear;
+That sound, which oft has made my heart rejoice,
+  I now all-trembling and affrighted hear.
+
+Was it thy fault, dear, much-lamented youth
+  If lovely Emma did thy suit prefer?
+She saw thee form'd of tenderness and truth,
+  And kings might glory to be lov'd by her.
+
+Thy native sweetness won her artless heart;
+  And well our different characters she knew;
+Whilst thy mild looks did happiness impart,
+  She saw the murderer in each glance I threw.
+
+Yet for this, meanly, did I thee upbraid,
+  And basely urg'd an elder brother's right;
+Then, calling impious passion to my aid,
+  Forc'd thee, unwilling, to the fatal fight.
+
+Oh! ne'er shall I forget the dreadful hour,
+  I sheath'd my weapon in thy noble breast;
+Thy dying hand clasp'd mine, with feeble pow'r,
+  And to thy mangled bosom fondly prest.
+
+Whilst o'er thee, I, in speechless anguish hung,
+  Thou saw'st the wild distraction of my eye;
+And, though the chills of death restrain'd thy tongue
+  Thy bosom heav'd a sympathetic sigh.
+
+With cruel tenderness my friends contriv'd,
+  To bear me from the drear, polluted shore;
+Of every joy, of peace itself depriv'd,
+  Which this despairing breast shall know no more.
+
+Since this what frenzy has inspir'd my mind!
+  My tortur'd mem'ry cannot it retrace;
+No relique now of former days I find,
+  But horrors, which e'en madness can't efface.
+
+My dearest brother, and my tenderest friend,
+  O come, and save me from this dark abyss!
+Draw hence the darts which my rack'd bosom rend!
+  And bear me with you to the realms of bliss!
+
+Ah! whence that pang which smote my shuddering heart?
+  Where now, for refuge, can lost Anselm fly?
+'Tis Death! I know him by his crimson dart!
+  And, am I fit? Oh heav'ns! I cannot die!
+
+My spirit is not form'd for rapid flight;
+  It cannot cut the vast expanse of air,
+No, never can it reach the realms of light,
+  For sin, a weight immoveable, lies there!'
+
+Thus wretched Anselm rav'd: unhappy youth!
+  Though passion hurried thee so far astray,
+Thy infant soul ador'd the God of Truth,
+  And virtue usher'd in thy vernal day.
+
+Oh! had he learn'd his passions to restrain,
+  And let cool reason in his breast preside,
+His op'ning wisdom had not bloom'd in vain,
+  Nor had he, ere the prime of manhood, died.
+
+Yet, if remorse could expiate his guilt,
+  If the worst sufferings could the crime erase,
+If tears could wash away the blood he spilt,
+  Then Anselm's penitence obtain'd him grace.
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1794.
+
+
+
+IN A LETTER to A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA.
+
+
+Forgive me, if I wound your ear,
+  By calling of you Nancy,
+Which is the name of my sweet friend,
+  The other's but her fancy.
+
+Ah, dearest girl! how could your mind
+  The strange distinction frame?
+The whimsical, unjust caprice,
+  Which robs you of your name.
+
+_Nancy_ agrees with what we see,
+  A being wild and airy;
+Gay as a nymph of Flora's train,
+  Fantastic as a fairy.
+
+But _Anna's_ of a different kind,
+  A melancholy maid;
+Boasting a sentimental soul,
+  In solemn pomp array'd.
+
+Oh ne'er will I forsake the sound,
+  So artless and so free!
+Be what you will with all mankind.
+  But _Nancy_ still with me.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONELY WALK,
+
+To W.S.B.
+
+
+When the grey evening spreads a calm around,
+  Tell me, has thy bewilder'd fancy sought,
+Retir'd in some sequestered spot of ground,
+  Rest, from the labour of eternal thought?
+
+When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose,
+  The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat,
+In dream-like musing every care we lose,
+  And wind our way with slowly-moving feet.
+
+Oft, to indulge the thought-exploded sigh,
+  When, slowly wandering at the close of day,
+Light emanations from th'abstracted eye,
+  With transient beauty in the sun-beams play,
+
+Thy sister seeks the solitary shade.
+  Her mind inhaling the aerial gloom,
+Sees, not-observing, the fair landscape fade,
+  And sullen mist usurping day-light's room.
+
+Not her's the feelings which regret inspires,
+  When sorrows keen have made the spirits low;
+Adversity has damp'd the youthful fires,
+  And all the tears that fall are tears of woe.
+
+Ah no! possessing every social bliss,
+  I cannot, will not at my fate repine;
+Or ask for happiness excelling this,
+  When such a world of treasures now are mine!
+
+And, when the melancholy grove I seek,
+  Scarce can my palpitating heart controul,
+While silent tears are trembling on my cheek,
+  The flood of pleasure swelling in my soul.
+
+But soon my too-elated thoughts are calm,
+  The tumults of the mental chaos cease;
+A soft oblivion the rais'd senses charm,
+  And lull to a reflecting, soothing peace.
+
+Hail, sweet enhancements of the languid mind!
+  Whose calm reposes restless worldlings scorn;
+But from whose aid recruited strength we find,
+  And waken, lively as the bird of morn.
+
+And thou, lov'd boy, in whose congenial breast,
+  I doubt not but those sentiments reside;
+For we, our thoughts, our actions have confest,
+  As much in hearts as persons are allied;
+
+Hail thou, my brother! may thy steps be led
+  By heav'nly wisdom through this world of care,
+And gain the realms for which our Saviour, bled!
+  Nor pain, nor lassitude await us there.
+
+OCTOBER 13, 1794.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The first Percy, who came over with William the Conqueror, married a
+Saxon lady, called Emma de Port, said to have been the daughter of the
+last Saxon Earl of Northumberland, whose possessions had been given to
+him (Lord William de Percy) for his services_.
+
+_I have taken the liberty of supposing this lady to have had a
+brother._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE OUTLAW.
+
+
+Before the fair Aurora spread
+  Her azure mantle o'er the skies,
+While sleep its pleasing influence shed,
+  On grateful mortals weary eyes,
+
+Emerg'd from a surrounding wood,
+  On a bleak mountain's sullen brow,
+A solitary outlaw stood,
+  And view'd, through mist, the world below.
+
+With deep regret his bosom fraught,
+  His arms were wreath'd in sorrow's knot[10];
+Nor seem'd he yet, by patience taught,
+  To bear submissively his lot.
+
+Hidden was each enlivening grace;
+  Deprest by his untimely doom;
+A hectic flush o'erspread his face,
+  Instead of nature's florid bloom.
+
+Untutor'd in the school of grief,
+  His pining spirit spoke in sighs;
+Though almost hopeless of relief,
+  He look'd around with eager eyes;
+
+And fondly bent an anxious ear,
+  To the slow murmuring of the breeze,
+Essaying oft, in vain, to hear
+  A friendly step beneath the trees.
+
+"Delusive wish!" at last he cried,
+  "Why wilt thou fill my aching breast?
+And thus my miseries deride,
+  By telling how I might be blest.
+
+"No kind consolers hither bend,
+  By sympathy to ease my care;
+Here comes no ever-faithful friend,
+  Who yet might shield me from despair.
+
+"The abbey's well-known tow'r I seek,
+  It fades from my impassion'd eye;
+The fancied outlines softly break,
+  And melt into the distant sky.
+
+"No pitying object now remains,
+  That I may know those scenes are near,
+Where generous love and friendship reigns,
+  And Alwin's name may claim a tear.
+
+"And you, my lov'd paternal groves,
+  Where I no more must shew my head;
+In your fair walks a stranger roves,
+  And treacherous Normans daily tread!
+
+"E'en now their presence may prophane
+  The halls where Herbert did reside!
+E'en now may joy and gladness reign,
+  And Adelaide be Percy's bride.
+
+"Yet no! her soul, the seat of truth,
+  Would ne'er a second love receive!
+The sacred vows of artless youth,
+  Her Alwin ever shall believe!
+
+"They still shall comfort my sad heart,
+  And sooth the anguish of my mind;
+Shall still a cheering hope impart,
+  And make me somewhat more resign'd.
+
+"Ah! yet I hear her trembling hand,
+  Withdraw the bolt to set me free!
+Yet hear the hasty, kind command,
+  My Alwin fly, and live for me!
+
+"No other can obtain my love!
+  I would for thee the world resign!
+Then let thy prompt obedience prove
+  That thou art truly, wholly mine."
+
+"And ever to her promise true,
+  No pleasure shall her soul elate,
+For, yet her constant thoughts pursue
+  A wretched Outlaw's hapless fate!
+
+"In vain proud Ranulph[11] shall upbraid,
+  My Adelaide is still the same!
+And, for thy sake, dear, lovely maid,
+  I will not curse the Norman name!
+
+"Not, though my father's large domains,
+  Are plunder'd by the murderous bands;
+And my Northumbria's fertile plains,
+  Lie wasted by their cruel hands;
+
+"Though, as a son, I mourn the fate
+  Of those, to whom my life I owe;
+And hate the hearts that thus create
+  The dimness of severest woe;
+
+"Though I behold no friendly steel,
+  To give my Emma vengeance, drawn;
+And though a brother's pangs I feel,
+  To know her destitute, forlorn;
+
+"Though, banish'd from the sight of day,
+  In dreary solitude I pine;
+And, forc'd to feel a tyrant's sway,
+  Each dear paternal right resign;
+
+"Yet will I seal my lips; nor dare
+  To extricate my haughty foes:
+The hateful, guilty root I spare,
+  Which can produce so fair a rose.
+
+"But thou, my heart, wilt thou be calm?
+  Oh! tell me, can reflection cease;
+And this fond bosom, now so warm,
+  Be ever tranquilliz'd to peace!
+
+"Ah, no! a father's scornful eye
+  Is ever present to my view;
+And tells me, Herbert dar'd to die,
+  Though Normans could his son subdue.
+
+"Each feeble plea his soul disdains,
+  They cannot for the fault atone;
+Though, when I left Northumbria's plains,
+  I had not fifteen summers known.
+
+"And hear me, Herbert, when I swear
+  It was not fear that urg'd my flight;
+A worthless life was not my care,
+  I thought but of a parent's right.
+
+"Then pardon that my youth comply'd,
+  To ease a mother's anxious fears
+That, when I rather would have died,
+  I yielded to a sister's tears.
+
+"Alas! a peasant's humble shed,
+  Soon saw our sainted parents' death,
+Who, while our hearts in anguish bled,
+  With pious hopes resign'd her breath.
+
+"When mists foretel the ev'ning near,
+  And clouds of chilling dew arise,
+We sought the grave of her so dear,
+  And offer'd there our tears and sighs.
+
+"'Till mild reflection lent her aid,
+  And bade our filial sorrows cease;
+The fever of our souls allay'd,
+  We sunk into a mournful peace.
+
+"My pensive bosom strove to keep
+  A dying mother's last request;
+I let the thoughts of vengeance sleep,
+  And studied to make Emma blest.
+
+"No longer shunning of the dawn,
+  Or seeking the sequester'd shade,
+I call'd my sister to the lawn,
+  And trod with her the flow'ry glade.
+
+"Submitting to our wayward fate,
+  I talk'd not of the treasures flown;
+But still seem'd easy and sedate,
+  While pressing verdure not my own.
+
+"Then all I wish'd, and all I fear'd,
+  Was by fraternal love inspir'd;
+And one, by every tie endear'd,
+  The only friend my soul desir'd.
+
+"Yet soon that pleasing calmness fled,
+  A Norman beauty won my heart,
+Imperious love my footsteps led,
+  And bade all secrecy depart.
+
+"I own'd the splendour of my race,
+  Altho' a peasant's form I bore;
+I fancied silence was disgrace,
+  And hid my sentiments no more.
+
+"Her father's tongue my fate decreed,
+  And doom'd great Herbert's son to shame;
+For, tho' by love from prison freed,
+  I bear an outlaw's hateful name.
+
+"My sister no fond friend can shield,
+  No relative allay her grief;
+For tyranny all hearts hath steel'd,
+  And nought can give her soul relief.
+
+"With ev'ry quality to charm,
+  A guardian will not heaven allow,
+To screen thy artless youth from harm,
+  And, fair deserted! help thee now!
+
+"No aid, no comfort, can be nigh!
+  And shall thy brother here remain?
+Has he not fortitude to fly,
+  And burst the heavy, servile chain?
+
+"Why should I linger here alone,
+  Unseen by every human eye?
+To live unfriended and unknown,
+  And in this dreary desart die.
+
+"For now the sun-beams gild the sky,
+  And give the misty morning grace,
+Far from the light I'm doom'd to fly,
+  Abandon'd by the human race.
+
+"But no! I'll bear suspense no more!
+  Too dear a price to purchase breath;
+I'll seek the scenes I yet deplore,
+  And meet a welcome, wish'd-for, death."
+
+Tortur'd to frenzy, Alwin flew,
+  And as he left his sad retreat,
+He, turning, look'd a last adieu,
+  And shook the dew-drops from his feet.
+
+His hurried steps nor press'd the ground,
+  Nor pointed out the path he came;
+And, though so long the way he found,
+  Despair buoy'd up his fainting frame.
+
+The sun shot forth a feeble ray,
+  But hid his glorious orb from sight,
+And the pale evening's modest grey,
+  Had soften'd the too-glaring light,
+
+When Alwin reach'd the humble cot,
+  That once he did with Emma share,
+And, weeping, hail'd the well-known spot,
+  In vain, for Emma was not there.
+
+Repuls'd, he turn'd his languid eye,
+  Where Ranulph's lofty turrets rose;
+And, heaving disappointment's sigh,
+  He sought the mansion of his foes.
+
+His faltering step, when there he came,
+  A proud, disdainful air possest;
+Memory recall'd his former shame,
+  And indignation fill'd his breast.
+
+He enter'd, in his wild attire,
+  With hasty pace and haggard brow,
+Scorn fill'd his azure eye with fire,
+  And gave his cheeks a deeper glow.
+
+A graceful knight who met his view,
+  Sat pleading by a lady's side;
+And Alwin's jealous bosom knew
+  Lord Percy, and his fated bride.
+
+Mistaken youth! thy eyes have seen,
+  The persons pictur'd in thy mind;
+But who is that, with pensive mien,
+  And forehead on her hand reclin'd?
+
+O'er whom Lord Ranulph fondly bends,
+  With sorrow seated on his brow;
+While the regretting tear descends
+  O'er his pale cheek, in silent woe.
+
+"Ah! is it thus?" sad Alwin said,
+  The fancied bride the accents knew,
+Lord Percy rais'd his drooping head,
+  And lovely Emma met his view.
+
+Then rapture and surprize prevail'd,
+  Each bosom felt confus'd delight;
+While his return the mourner hail'd,
+  And thus his sorrows did requite.
+
+"O, dearest Alwin, now no more
+  My father disapproves our flame;
+No longer we thy loss deplore,
+  Or tremble to pronounce thy name.
+
+"A noble friend has gain'd our cause,
+  And vanquish'd all his former hate;
+Who, ere he own'd a lover's laws,
+  With generous tears had wept thy fate."
+
+"Yes, injur'd youth," Lord Ranulph cried,
+  "Thou art this day my chosen heir;
+In Adelaide behold thy bride,
+  Thy sister's future husband, there.
+
+"Lord Percy, to a candid mind,
+  Unites a fervour like thy own;
+And Emma, not to merit blind,
+  Refers his cause to thee alone.
+
+"If thou wilt grant his fond desire,
+  'Twill gain a brave, a noble friend;
+And the possessions of thy sire,
+  To his posterity descend."
+
+"And did my Emma stay to hear,
+  Her brother sanctify her choice?
+Ah Percy! now you need not fear
+  From Alwin, a dissenting voice.
+
+"Blest in my love, in Emma blest,
+  My heart each cherish'd wish obtains;
+Northumbrians, now no more opprest,
+  Shall own a son of Herbert reigns.
+
+"May ye rebuild the peasant's cot,
+  Exalt the woe-depressed head,
+And o'er each desolated spot,
+  The fostering calm of quiet spread!
+
+"May sterne reserve and caution cease!
+  With lenient hand dispense your sway;
+Give them the healing balm of peace,
+  Their wounded spirits will obey.
+
+"Ah! cheer their gloom! dispel their care!
+  The smile will soon replace the tear;
+And, wedded to a Saxon fair,
+  The foreign lord no more appear."
+
+1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 10: "Wreathing his arms in this sad knot."--SHAKESPERE'S
+TEMPEST.]
+
+[Footnote 11: Lord of Cumberland.]
+
+
+
+
+INVITATION,
+
+To J.B.C.
+
+
+Now spring appears, with beauty crown'd,
+And all is light and life around,
+Why comes not Jane? When friendship calls,
+Why leaves she not Augusta's walls?
+Where cooling zephyrs faintly blow,
+Nor spread the cheering, healthful glow.
+That glides through each awaken'd vein,
+As skimming o'er the spacious plain,
+We look around with joyous eye,
+And view no boundaries but the sky.
+
+Already April's reign is o'er,
+Her evening tints delight no more;
+No more the violet scents the gale,
+No more the mist o'erspreads the vale;
+The lovely queen of smiles and tears,
+Who gave thee birth, no more appears;
+But blushing May, with brow serene,
+And vestments of a livelier green,
+Commands the winged choir to sing,
+And with wild notes the meadows ring.
+
+O come! ere all the train is gone,
+No more to hail thy twenty-one;
+That age which higher honor shares,
+And well becomes the wreath it wears.
+From lassitude and cities flee,
+And breathe the air of heav'n, with me.
+
+
+MAY 5, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN ON
+
+WHITSUN-MONDAY,
+
+1795.
+
+
+At an open window sitting,
+  On this day of mirth and glee,
+'Cross a flow'ry vista flitting,
+  Many passing forms I see.
+Ah! lovely prospect, stay awhile!
+  And longer glad my doating eye,
+With poverty's delighted smile,
+  And lighten'd step, as passing by;
+
+With labour's spruce and ruddy train,
+  Deck'd out in all their best array,
+Who, months of toil and care disdain,
+  Paid by the pleasures of a day.
+The village girl still let me view,
+  Hast'ning to the neighb'ring fair;
+Her cap adorn'd with pink or blue,
+  And nicely smooth her glossy hair.
+
+With sparkling eye and smiling face,
+  Ting'd o'er with beauty's warmest glow;
+With timid air, and humble grace,
+  With clear and undepressed brow.
+Go! lovely girl, and share the day,
+  To thy industrious merit due;
+There join the dance, or choral lay;
+  Thou blooming, village rose, adieu!
+
+And thou, O youth, so blythe and free,
+  Bounding swiftly o'er the plain,
+Go, taste the joys of liberty,
+  And cheer thy spirit, happy swain!
+How different to the lonely hour,
+  When slowly following the plough,
+Self-buoyant joy forgets the pow'r,
+  Which warms thy gladden'd bosom now.
+
+If some rural prize desiring,
+  Or ambitious of applause,
+Loud huzzas thy wishes firing,
+  Thy steady hand the furrow draws;
+Ne'er a victor fam'd in story,
+  Greater praise and reverence drew,
+Than thou, attir'd in humble glory,
+  So, guiltless conqueror, adieu!
+
+Oh, here a charming group appears!
+  A cottage family, so gay,
+Whose youthful hopes, uncheck'd by fears,
+  In smiles of thoughtless rapture play.
+Here, borne in fond, parental arms,
+  The infant's roving eye we view;
+Boasting a thousand, thousand charms,
+  Endearing innocents, adieu!
+
+They go! no more with beating heart,
+  And lively, dancing step to tread;
+Unwillingly will they depart,
+  To seek again their homely shed.
+Ah! Eve, I love thy veil of grey,
+  Which will conceal them from my view,
+For, bending home their weary way,
+  How sad would be our last adieu!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The following was suggested by reading a whimsical description, given
+by Scarron, of the deformity of his person, contrasted with its former
+elegance, in the Curiosities of Literature, vol. 2, page 247_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PHILEMON.
+
+
+Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace,
+  Which can delight the eye, or please the ear,
+Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face,
+  Awhile the councils of Philemon hear!
+
+Let not pride lift the thoughtless head too high,
+  Temerity arch o'er the scornful brow,
+Contemptuous glances arm the sparkling eye,
+  Or the high heart with self-complacence glow!
+
+Alas! full soon the eve of life arrives,
+  Though pale Disease's train approach not nigh;
+Short is the summer of the happiest lives,
+  If no rude storm disturbs the smiling sky.
+
+This wretched body, bending to the earth,
+  Once, on the wings of health, alert and gay,
+Shone forth the foremost in the train of mirth,
+  And cloudless skies announc'd a beauteous day.
+
+My parents oft, with fond complacence view'd,
+  The elegance of my external form;
+And thought my mind with excellence endued,
+  Bright as my genius, as my fancy warm.
+
+There was a time, poor as I now appear,
+  I admiration met in every look;
+And, harsh as now my words may grate your ear,
+  Each tongue was silent when Philemon spoke.
+
+Once could this voice make every bosom thrill,
+  As it pour'd forth the light or plaintive lay;
+And once these fingers, with superior skill,
+  Upon the lute could eloquently play.
+
+By partial friendship sooth'd, by flattery fann'd,
+  I learnt with conscious grace the dance to lead,
+To guide the Phaeton with careless hand,
+  And rule, with flowing rein, the prancing steed.
+
+Sick with the glory of a trifler's fame,
+  By folly nurtur'd, I was proud and vain;
+Till Chastisement in kindest mercy came,
+  Though then her just decrees I dar'd arraign.
+
+The form that sought so late the public view,
+  That glow'd with transport, as the world admir'd,
+Fill'd with false shame, from every eye withdrew,
+  And to the shades of solitude retir'd.
+
+Consum'd by fevers, spiritless, forlorn,
+  Blasted by apoplexy's dreadful rage,
+My bleeding heart by keen remembrance torn,
+  I past my prime in premature old age.
+
+I heard my parent's ill-suppressed sighs,
+  And wish'd myself upon the peaceful bier;
+I saw the anguish of their sleepless eyes,
+  The smile dissembled, and the secret tear.
+
+Oft, with a kind of gratifying woe,
+  I recollected every former charm,
+And, with the spleen of a malicious foe,
+  Delighted still to keep my sorrows warm.
+
+"Where is the lustre of the gladsome eye,
+  The airy smile, the animated mien,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+  So lately envied, now no longer seen.
+
+"I too have gloried in my waving hair,
+  No ringlets now remain to raise my pride;
+Nor can I now lay the white forehead bare,
+  And push the too luxuriant locks aside."
+
+Thus, like a child, I sigh'd for pleasures past,
+  And lost my hours in a delusive dream;
+But Reason op'd my blinded eyes at last,
+  And clear'd each mist by her refulgent beam.
+
+I saw futurity before me spread,
+  A scourge or sceptre offer'd to my view,
+Alarm'd, from Folly's erring mazes fled,
+  And to my God with humble rev'rence drew.
+
+I bow'd, submissive, at the holy shrine,
+  His mercy with warm gratitude confest,
+Which had reveal'd the spark of life divine,
+  That slumber'd in my earth-enamoured breast.
+
+Had I, as friendship and self-love desir'd,
+  Still suck'd delirium at the fane of praise,
+I might, my conscience lull'd and passions fir'd,
+  Have lost my soul in the bewitching blaze.
+
+Dear rising train, let not my words offend!
+  Nor the pure dictates of my love despise;
+To one, late like yourselves, attention lend,
+  And, taught by his experience, be wise!
+
+Ah! banish from your eye the fiend Disdain;
+  Let fair simplicity supply its place;
+Nor longer let conceit the bosom stain;
+  The child of weakness, follow'd by disgrace.
+
+Should time from you each glowing beauty wrest,
+  You will not then those self-reproaches feel,
+Which every eye awaken'd in my breast,
+  And twenty winters scarce suffic'd to heel.
+
+Nor will your friends observe each faded charm,
+  Since still your countenance its smile retains,
+And the same lov'd companion, kind and warm,
+  With unassuming manners, yet remains.
+
+
+SEPT. 8, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+ON A FAN.
+
+
+Now I've painted these flowers, say what can I do,
+To render them worthy acceptance from you?
+I know of no sybil, whose wonderful art
+Could to them superior virtues impart,
+Who, of magical influence wonders could tell,
+And, who over each blossom could mutter a spell.
+
+You only the humbler enchantments can prove,
+That arise from esteem, from respect, and from love;
+With such I assail you, and pow'rful the charm,
+When applied to a heart sympathetic and warm;
+To a heart such as that, which, if right I divine,
+O C--ll--n--n! dwells in that bosom of thine.
+
+NOV. 10, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+TO SIMPLICITY.
+
+
+Fair village nymph, ah! may I meet
+  Thy pleasing form where'er I stray!
+With open air and converse sweet,
+  Still cheer my undiscover'd way!
+
+With eyes, that shew the placid mind,
+  And with no feign'd emotions roll;
+With mien, that sprightly or resign'd,
+  Bespeaks the temper of the soul.
+
+With smiles, where not the lips alone
+  Receive a brighter, vermil hue,
+The cheek does warmer roses own,
+  And the eyes beam, a deeper blue!
+
+Though Fashion's minions scorn thy pow'r,
+  And slight thee, 'cause in russet drest,
+Yet Joy frequents thy peaceful bow'r,
+  And sorrow flies to thee for rest.
+
+The echoing laugh, the rapturous tear,
+  The smile of friendship, gay and free,
+Delight but when they are sincere,
+  And given, lovely nymph, by thee.
+
+When my Rosina reads a tale,
+  Though sweet the tuneful accents flow,
+No studied pathos does prevail
+  To bid the hearer's bosom glow;
+
+Her voice to sympathy resign'd,
+  Each different feeling can impart.
+And, tell me not, we e'er can find
+  A modulator, like the heart!
+
+And Mary's locks of glossy brown,
+  That fall in waves, with graceful swell,
+In ever-varying ringlets thrown,
+  The fairest curls of art excel.
+
+Still rob'd in innocence and ease,
+  Daughter of Truth, shall thou prevail,
+When Affectation cannot please,
+  And all the spells of Fashion fail.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+THE TERRORS OF GUILT.
+
+
+Yon coward, with the streaming hair,
+And visage, madden'd to despair,
+With step convuls'd, unsettled eye,
+And bosom lab'ring with a sigh,
+Is _Guilt!_--Behold, he hears the name,
+And starts with horror, fear, and shame!
+
+See! slow Suspicion by his side,
+  With winking, microscopic eye!
+And Mystery, his muffled guide,
+  With fearful speech, and head awry.
+
+See! scowling Malice there attend,
+Bold Falsehood, an apparent friend;
+Avarice, repining o'er his pelf,
+Mean Cunning, lover of himself;
+Hatred, the son of conscious Fear,
+Impatient Envy, with a fiend-like sneer,
+And shades of blasted Hopes, which still are hovering near!
+
+All other woes will find relief,
+And time alleviate every grief;
+Memory, though slowly, will decay,
+And Sorrow's empire pass away.
+Awhile Misfortune may controul,
+And Pain oppress the virtuous soul,
+Yet Innocence can still beguile
+The patient sufferer of a smile,
+The beams of Hope may still dispense
+A grateful feeling to the sense;
+Friendship may cast her arms around,
+And with fond tears embalm the wound,
+Or Piety's soft incense rise,
+And waft reflection to the skies;
+But those fell pangs which he endures,
+Nor Time forgets, nor Kindness cures;
+Like Ocean's waves, they still return,
+Like Etna's fires, forever burn.
+
+Round him no genial zephyrs fly,
+No fair horizon glads his eye,
+No joys to him does Nature yield,
+The solemn grove, or laughing field;
+Though both with loud rejoicings ring,
+No pleasure does the echo bring,
+Not bubbling waters as they roll,
+Can tranquillize his bursting soul,
+For Conscience still, with tingling smart,
+Asserts his empire o'er his heart,
+And even when his eye-lids close,
+With clamourous scream affrights repose.
+
+Oppress'd with light, he seeks to shun
+The splendid glories of the sun;
+The busy crowds that hover near,
+Torment his eye, distract his ear;
+He hastens to the secret shades,
+Where not a ray the gloom pervades;
+Where Contemplation may retreat,
+And Silence take his mossy seat;
+Yet even there no peace he knows,
+His fev'rish blood, no calmer flows;
+Some hid assassins 'vengeful knife,
+Is rais'd to end his wretched life.
+He shudders, starts, and stares around,
+With breathless fright, to catch the fancied sound;
+Seeks for the dagger in his breast,
+And gripes it 'neath his ruffled vest.
+
+Lo! now he plunges in the flood,
+To cleanse his garments, stain'd with blood,
+His sanguine arm, in terror, laves;
+But ah! its hue defies the waves.
+Deprest, bewildered, thence he flies,
+And, to avoid Detection, tries,
+Who, frowning, still before him stands,
+The sword of Justice in her hands;
+Abhorrent Scorn, unpitying Shame,
+And Punishments without a name,
+Still on her sounding steps attend,
+And every added horror lend.
+He turns away, with dread and fear,
+But the fell spectres still are near.
+Though Falsehood's mazes see him wind!
+Yet Infamy is close behind,
+Lifting her horn, with horrors fraught,
+Whose hideous yell is frenzy to the thought.
+
+Now, maniac-like, he comes again,
+And mixes with the jocund train;
+But still those eyes that wildly roll,
+Bespeak the tempest in his soul.
+In yon deep cave he strives to rest,
+But Mem'ry harrows up his breast;
+He clasps the goblet, foe to Care,
+And lo! Distraction hovers there.
+
+Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to know,
+The sad varieties of woe;
+Where'er thy footsteps turn, to meet,
+An earthquake yawning at thy feet,
+While o'er thy head pale meteors glare,
+And boding tempests fill the air,
+In throbbing anguish doom'd to roam,
+Yet never find a peaceful home.
+Haste! to the shrine of Mercy hie,
+There lift the penitential eye,
+With breaking heart thy sins deplore,
+And wound Integrity no more!
+Repentance then thy soul shall save,
+And snatch thee, ransom'd, from the grave.
+
+JULY 1796.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The death of Selred, last King of the East-Saxons, reduced that part
+of the Heptarchy to dependance on Mercia. The rest is imaginary_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CEN'LIN, PRINCE OF MERCIA.
+
+
+When Britain many chiefs obey'd,
+And seven Saxon princes sway'd,
+The Mercian monarch, fam'd afar,
+In peace respected, fear'd in war,
+Favour'd by heav'n above the rest,
+In his brave son was fully blest;
+For none like Cen'lin did arise,
+So virtuous, elegant, and wise.
+
+Of partial Mercian eyes the joy,
+His parents idoliz'd the boy;
+Saw with just pride each op'ning grace,
+His charms of mind, of form, and face.
+And as he oft, with modest air,
+His thoughts and feelings did declare,
+His father would delighted hear,
+Would fondly drop the grateful tear;
+And proudly cast his eyes around,
+But not an equal could be found.
+Warm from each lip applauses broke,
+And every tongue his praises spoke;
+The list'ning courtiers spread his fame,
+And blessings follow'd Cen'lins name.
+
+Now twenty summer's suns had flown,
+And Mercia's hopes were fully blown;
+When ah! conceal'd in coarse disguise,
+To Selred's[12] court their darling flies.
+Selred, his father's scorn and hate,
+Became the ruler of his fate.
+There flatter'd, lov'd, the youth remain'd,
+Till Cenulph's threats his heir regain'd.
+But ah! no more the son of mirth,
+His pensive eye now sought the earth;
+No more within the dance to move,
+Or list to sages, did he love;
+But from surrounding friends would fly,
+To pour in solitude the sigh.
+And soon again the youth withdrew,
+Again to th' Eastern-Saxons flew.
+His father heard, opprest with woe,
+His aged heart forgot to glow;
+He learnt his foes an army led,
+With youthful Cen'lin at their head,
+He call'd his warriors forth to meet,
+And stretch the rebel at his feet:
+Tears from his eyes in anguish broke,
+As thus the aged monarch spoke:
+
+"Ye Mercians, let your banners fly!
+The graceless youth this day shall die!
+For, since he dares an army bring
+Against his father and his king,
+Though dear as life, I will not spare,
+Nor listen to affection's pray'r!
+If all my people should implore,
+I'll pardon the rash boy no more!
+His harden'd heart, to duty blind,
+No ties of gratitude can bind;
+This hoary head would else have rest,
+And pleasure warm this aching breast.
+Ah, cruel youth! thy wrongs I feel,
+More deep than wounds of pointed steel.
+For, if forlorn the parent's doom,
+Who bears his offspring to the tomb,
+Some comfort still his breast may know,
+Some soothing thought may calm his woe,
+And when he gives a loose to pain,
+He feels not that he mourns in vain,
+But fancies still his darling nigh,
+And grateful for each bursting sigh,
+Still bending o'er, with list'ning ear,
+Each weeping, fond complaint to hear,
+The dear-lov'd phantom hovers round,
+And pours a balm in every wound.
+
+"How doubly poignant is my smart,
+Bereaved of my Cen'lin's heart!
+Exil'd from that deluded breast,
+Where I had fondly hop'd to rest,
+With faith undoubting, sweet repose,
+Till Death should bid my eye-lids close.
+And sometimes yet will hope arise;
+Till now he ever scorn'd disguise;
+Some cursed fiend might taint his youth,
+And warp a temper form'd for truth.
+When late he humbly knelt for grace,
+And clasp'd my knees in close embrace,
+Upon his lips a secret hung,
+But something seem'd to stay his tongue;
+I prest not, for my anger slept,
+And fondness only saw he wept;
+Ah! fatal haste! then had I known
+The serpent, I had sav'd my son!
+Yet surely pardon frank as mine,
+A noble heart would more confine!
+When leaguing with my bitter foe,
+To strike some grand, decisive blow;
+Perhaps to rob me of my throne,
+And make it, ere the time, his own;
+Or, should wan guilt a danger dread,
+To humble this devoted head,
+Each throbbing pang of conscience drown,
+And seize, with bloody hands, the crown.
+O'er this offence I cast a veil,
+And fondly hush'd the whisper'd tale.
+Ah fool! deluded by the grace,
+Of that fine form, and perfect face;
+I thought his bosom free from sin,
+Nor dreamt a demon lurk'd within.
+His voice, which ever could controul,
+Each passion of the hearer's soul,
+With ease my partial heart beguil'd,
+Who knew no sorrows when he smil'd.
+And ah! my friends, your downcast eyes,
+Your pensive air, and smother'd sighs,
+All tell me you lament the fate,
+Of him, whom yet you cannot hate.
+And shall I bear then to behold,
+That form inanimate and cold,
+His smiling lips depriv'd of breath,
+His eyes for ever clos'd in death!
+Ah no! my heart with anguish swells,
+And every throbbing vein rebels.
+Let sorrow weep, or anger thrill,
+Yet all the parent triumphs still.
+
+"Oh Father! who in mercy reigns,
+If thy all-ruling will ordains,
+That my unhappy Cen'lin dies,
+Remove the picture from my eyes!
+At the same moment set us free,
+Both rebel sons, my God, to thee!"
+Thus did the king pour forth his pray'r,
+With all the wildness of despair;
+Then, stilling every rising sigh,
+He calm'd the anguish of his eye,
+And though within the burthen lay,
+He wip'd the falling tears away.
+
+When lo! there comes a youthful train,
+Descending swiftly to the plain,
+Drest like the fairest sons of day,
+In floating robes and colours gay;
+No crested helmets there appear,
+No glittering shield or pointed spear,
+But youths with honey-suckles crown'd,
+Or their fair locks with fillets bound,
+Whose circling ranks and varied dyes,
+Shew'd like the bow, that gilds the skies.
+Whilst in the van a pair were seen,
+Of peerless charms and graceful mien;
+One lovely form the Mercians knew,
+And gladden'd at the pleasing view,
+Who, with the glow of youthful prime,
+Had all the majesty of time.
+And beauteous was the fair he led,
+As any fabled Grecian maid;
+The nymphs who tend Aurora's car,
+And usher in the morning star,
+Though made inhabitants of air,
+Were not more elegant and fair;
+Nor Dian's ever-healthful train,
+When skimming o'er the spacious plain.
+Had not more pure, more lively dyes,
+Or brighter lustre in their eyes.
+
+The king, so late by woe deprest,
+Felt hope reanimate his breast,
+And as his Cen'lin nearer drew,
+His waking hopes more vivid grew.
+"My friends," he cried, "will you believe,
+That open mien can e'er deceive?
+That blooming form can e'er unfold,
+A heart ungenerous and cold,
+That melting softness of the eye,
+Can harbour direst cruelty?
+Ah no! a poison's baleful pow'r,
+Lurks not beneath so fair a flow'r.
+Nor are those youths with amber hair,
+Such as fell treason would prepare,
+An aged monarch to dethrone,
+And hear, unmov'd, a father's groan.
+Gay are their looks, no dark disguise,
+Dims the mild radiance of their eyes;
+No murderous thoughts their souls employ,
+But, heralds of transporting joy,
+They come to bid suspicion cease,
+And sooth my sorrow into peace."
+Caution could scarce awhile controul
+The strong delights of Cenulph's soul,
+When Cen'lin knelt, and by his side
+Half-kneeling, bent his lovely bride.
+But, when he first essay'd to speak,
+A hasty blush pass'd o'er his cheek,
+He hung awhile his graceful head,
+Till thus, with air confus'd he said:
+"I come, by love with honours crown'd,
+Yet sorrow casts a shade around,
+That when my consort here I bring,
+The heiress of a potent king,
+The Mercians, clad in armour, come,
+To lead their princess to her home.
+No joyful hail our nuptial greets,
+No proof of love my Ela meets,
+But scarlet banners, waving high,
+The bridal knot and wreath supply.
+Alas! I see mistrust has won
+E'en Cenulph's fondness from his son;
+Or could my ever-honour'd sire,
+A proof of Cen'lin's faith require?
+Can force so needful now appear,
+To aid a pow'r which I revere?
+When eager beauty's form to view,
+I first to Selred's court withdrew,
+A single wish thy pow'r maintain'd,
+A single wish thy son regain'd.
+I left the maid whose matchless charms,
+Each rooted prejudice disarms,
+Who rul'd my heart with sovereign sway,
+And taught a Mercian to obey
+Laws that East-Saxons can impart,
+When wit and beauty string the dart;
+Left her when hope my doubts beguil'd,
+And on our love her father smil'd.
+Oft have I tried to win thine ear,
+The fond, romantic tale to hear,
+But when I found a lonely hour,
+My coward soul has lost the pow'r;
+As on my lips the accents hung,
+Thy hate to Selred check'd my tongue.
+Yet flattering hopes my passion fed,
+And from thy court again I fled;
+I thought when you my fair beheld,
+And knew how greatly she excell'd,
+In every charm, each art refin'd,
+And virtue of the female mind,
+Thy judgment would approve my choice,
+And bless it with a cheerful voice.
+And ah! though fortune did combine
+With love, in making Ela mine,
+I cannot from a grief refrain,
+Remembering that I gave thee pain.
+Yet if thy Cen'lin e'er could please,
+If e'er my cares could give thee ease,
+Let mild affection now arise,
+And beam forgiveness from thine eyes!
+No more thy son shall make thee know
+A pain, or give thee cause of woe.
+No nights the Mercians have to fear,
+For all I love is center'd here,"
+He spoke, and o'er his father's soul,
+A stream of healing comfort stole;
+He rose, with slow, majestic grace,
+Tears of delight adorn'd his face,
+His pious heart with rapture glow'd,
+And joy a second youth bestow'd.
+
+"To meet thee thus, my son," he cried,
+"This peerless maiden for your bride,
+Bids each distressing thought depart,
+And joy again possess my heart.
+Fair princess, thine the happy fate,
+To heal the wounds of mutual hate;
+No longer shall this bosom know,
+An Eastern-Saxon as my foe;
+And she, who bids that passion rest,
+Doubt not, shall be supremely blest;
+The part is holy and benign,
+Befitting such a form as thine.
+This day, far dearer than before,
+Kind heav'n does twice my son restore,
+For by those speaking looks I see,
+Another valued child in thee."
+
+As then he raised them to his breast,
+Around the joyful Mercians prest,
+And made their shouts of triumph rise,
+To the fair concave of the skies.
+
+OCTOBER 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 12: King of the East-Saxons.]
+
+
+
+
+RHAPSODY.
+
+
+Lo! here a cloud comes sailing, richly clad
+In royal purple, which the parting beams
+Of bounteous Phoebus edge with tints of gold
+And lucid crimson. One might fancy it
+A noble bird, that laves its graceful form,
+And bathes its rosy bosom in the light.
+Look! how it swells and rears its snowy crest
+With haughty grandeur; while the blue expanse,
+In smiling patience lets the boaster pass,
+And swell his train with all the lazy vapours
+That hover in the air: an easy prey
+To the gigantic phantom, whose curl'd wing,
+Sweeps in these worthless triflers of the sky,
+And wraps them in his bosom. Go, vain shadow!
+Sick with the burthen of thy fancied greatness,
+A breath of zephyr wafts thee into nothing,
+Scatters thy spreading plumes, uncrowns thy front,
+And drives thee downward to thy mother earth,
+To mix with vapour and dissolve in dew.
+
+Such are the dreams of hope, which to the eye
+Of youthful inexperience, seem to touch
+The pure, unclouded sky of certainty.
+Buoy'd up by the fond eloquence of thought,
+And nurtur'd by the smile of vanity,
+Each hour the air-born vision gathers bulk,
+And Fancy decks it with a thousand hues,
+Varied and wild, till it abounds in charms
+Which sink the soul to sadness, when the breath
+Of gentle Reason breaks the beauteous bubble,
+And leaves us nought but vain regret behind.
+
+
+FEBRUARY 1, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN.
+
+
+When clouds and rain deform the sky,
+  And light'nings glare around,
+Amidst the dreary, cheerless scene,
+  Some comfort may be found.
+
+There will, at some far-distant spot,
+  A streak of light appear,
+Or, when the sullen vapours break,
+  The ether will be clear.
+
+And if the sun illumes the east,
+  And sheds his gladsome ray,
+Some boding mist, or passing cloud
+  Will threat the rising day.
+
+The heart rejoicing in the view,
+  And dancing with delight,
+Oft feels the touch of palsied fear,
+  And sinks at thought of night.
+
+So Hope's bright torch more clearly shines,
+  Amidst surrounding gloom,
+And, beldame Fortune vainly throws
+  Her mantle o'er the tomb.
+
+
+MARCH 15,1797.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPLAINT OF FANCY.
+
+To A.R.C.
+
+
+As, musing, late I sat reclin'd,
+And waking dreams absorb'd my mind,
+A damsel came, of various dyes,
+Like painted Iris from the skies;
+A purfled saffron was her vest,
+And sweet gum-cistus form'd her crest;
+In many a playful ring, her hair
+Flew light and flossy in the air;
+The mantle, blue and gold, she wore,
+A rose of opals held before,
+While, graceful in her fairy hand,
+Appear'd a crimson-tufted wand,
+Whose shade on every object threw
+A glowing tint of roseate hue.
+
+"Whence art thou, blooming nymph?" I cried,
+And thus a tuneful voice replied:
+"Men call me Fancy; at my shrine
+Myriads confess my power divine;
+There painters bend the willing knee,
+And laurell'd poets sue to me:
+For mine is every vivid ray,
+Which partial Nature gave the day;
+And, to the music of my song,
+A thousand nameless charms belong.
+
+"The friend of Happiness, I dwell
+Belov'd alike in court or cell;
+Where Glory lifts her ardent eye,
+With hasty, kindred zeal I fly,
+In sun-beams place the hero's form,
+And bid his arm command the storm;
+On swelling clouds an altar raise,
+And fan the tow'ring flame of praise.
+
+"Oft, from the lorn enthusiast's lyre,
+My fingers strike etherial fire,
+And give to sounds of piercing woe,
+Extatic rapture's fervent glow.
+Oft sooth the maniac's throbbing vein,
+And grace her simple, wilder'd strain;
+The tribe of Pain in fetters keep,
+Lull wounded Memory to sleep,
+And, in the mind of gloomy Care,
+Bid Thought an angel's semblance wear.
+
+"Dear to each blest aerial pow'r,
+E'en Wisdom calls me to her bow'r;
+My songs her leisure hours beguile,
+And teach her holy lip to smile.
+And, when the Muse, with thoughtful care,
+Has woven chaplets for her hair,
+I let her, with her myrtles, twine,
+Full many a fragrant rose of mine.
+
+"Then why, since all the wise and gay,
+To me a grateful homage pay,
+Since I to all my hand extend,
+And, liberal, every heart befriend,
+Does Nancy from the croud retire,
+And rend my blossoms from her lyre?
+Though every string the loss bewail,
+And tones of mellow sweetness fail,
+Which us'd to charm the pensive ear,
+When list'ning Friendship bent to hear.
+
+"Tell her I wish not to intrude
+Upon her sacred solitude,
+Nor cast my undulating chain,
+Around her glowing heart again;
+No! every claim I now resign,
+Yet let some small regard be mine;
+Let one, who nurs'd her infant years,
+And wip'd away some bitter tears,
+Still animate the scenes around,
+And make her tread on fairy ground;
+Give playful sweetness to each lay,
+And decorate the passing day.
+
+"Tell her, if now she scorns my strain,
+She may invoke my name in vain;
+In vain my proffered aid implore,
+Contemn'd, I hardly pardon more."
+
+She said, and springing from the earth,
+Attending found her suitor Mirth,
+Who caught her hand, with lively air,
+And plac'd her in his silver chair,
+Which through the yielding ether flew,
+And quickly bore them from my view.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O----
+
+
+Loud beats the rain! The hollow groan
+  Of rushing winds I hear,
+That with a deep and sullen moan,
+  Pass slowly by the ear.
+
+Soon will my dying fire refuse
+  To yield a cheerful ray,
+Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
+  The latest spark away.
+
+Ah, what a night! the chilly air
+  Bids comfort hence depart,
+While sad repining's clammy wings
+  Cling icy, to my heart.
+
+To-morrow's dawn may fair arise,
+  And lovely to the view;
+The sun with radiance gild the skies,
+  Yet then--I say adieu!
+
+Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
+  And lingering footsteps move,
+Though day may be more soft and fair,
+  Not her, but thee, I love.
+
+Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
+  Stay! and ward off the foe;
+Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
+  Yet tells me I must go.
+
+Forsake these hospitable halls,
+  Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
+To these high towers and ancient walls,
+  Pronounce a long farewell.
+
+Alas! will Time's rapacious hand,
+  These golden days restore?
+Or will he suffer me to taste
+  These golden days no more?
+
+Will he permit that here again,
+  I turn my willing feet?
+That my glad eyes may here again,
+  The look of kindness meet?
+
+That here I ever may behold,
+  Felicity to dwell,
+And often have the painful task
+  Of sighing out farewell?
+
+Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
+  By hope's sweet visions fed;
+And as I fly to seek repose,
+  She flutters round my bed.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Thou, Margaret, lov'st the secret shade,
+  The murmuring brook, or tow'ring tree;
+The village cot within the glade,
+  And lonely walk have charms for thee.
+
+To thee more dear the jasmine bow'r,
+  That shelt'ring, undisturb'd retreat,
+Than the high canopy of pow'r,
+  Or Luxury's embroider'd seat.
+
+More sweet the early morning breeze,
+  Whose odours fill the rural vale,
+The waving bosom of the seas,
+  When ruffled by the rising gale.
+
+Than all which pride or pomp bestow,
+  To grace the lofty Indian maid,
+Who prizes more the diamond's glow,
+  Than all in humbler vest array'd.
+
+Sweet is the rural festive song,
+  Which sounds so wildly o'er the plain,
+When thoughtless mirth the notes prolong,
+  And heart-felt pleasure pours the strain.
+
+Sweet is the dance where light and gay,
+  The village maiden trips along;
+Her simple robe in careless play,
+  As her fleet step winds round the throng.
+
+Sweet is the labourer's blazing fire,
+  When evening shades invite to rest;
+Though weary, home does joy inspire,
+  And social love dilates his breast.
+
+His rural lass with glee prepares,
+  The dainties fondness made her hoard;
+Her husband now the banquet shares,
+  And children croud around the board.
+
+Ah! who could wish to view the air
+  Of listless ease and languid wealth?
+Who with such pleasures could compare
+  The joys of innocence and health?
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA. DEL METASTASIO.
+
+
+"D'atre nubi è il sol ravvolto,
+    Luce infausta il Ciel colora.
+    Pur chi sa? Quest' alma ancora
+    La speranza non perdè.
+
+Non funesta ogni tempesta
+    Co' naufragj all' onde il seno;
+    Ogni tuono, ogni baleno
+    Sempre un fulmine non è."
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Dark, mournful clouds hang o'er the sun,
+  Lights gleam portentous in the air,
+And yet who knows? This troubled heart
+  Still gives not up to blank despair.
+
+Not big with shipwrecks every storm,
+  That sweeps the bosom of the main,
+Nor does the threatening, turbid sky,
+  Always the thunder-bolt contain.
+
+
+
+
+LA FORTUNA. DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+A chi serena io miro,
+  Chiaro è di notte il cielo:
+  Torna per lui nel gelo
+  La terra a germogliar.
+
+Ma se a taluno io giro
+  Torbido il guardo, e fosco,
+  Fronde gli niega il bosco,
+  Onde non trova in mar.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+To him whom kindly I behold,
+  The midnight sky is clear,
+And 'mid the wintry frost and cold,
+  The blushing flowers appear.
+
+But to the wretch who meets my eye,
+  When kindled by disdain,
+The very grove will leaves deny,
+  And waveless be the main.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+Finchè un zeffiro soave
+  Tien del mar l'ira placata,
+  Ogni nave
+  È fortunata,
+  È felice ogni nocchier;
+
+È ben prova di coraggio
+  Incontrar l'onde funeste,
+  Navigar fra le tempeste,
+  E non perdere il sentier.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Whilst zephyr sooths the angry waves
+  Of Ocean into rest,
+Each vessel is in safety borne,
+  And every pilot blest.
+
+But he indeed demands our praise,
+  Who stems the tempest's force,
+And midst the ire of hostile waves,
+  Pursues his destin'd course.
+
+
+
+
+SONETTO.
+
+DI GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.
+
+
+Oh sonno, oh della cheta, umida, ombrosa
+  Notte placido figlio; oh de' mortali
+  Egri conforto, oblio dolce de' mali,
+  Sì gravi, ond' è la vita aspra, e nojosa:
+Soccorri al core omai, che langue, e posa
+  Non have; e queste membra stanche, e frali
+  Solleva: a me ten vola, oh sonno, e l'ali
+  Tue brune sovra me distendi, e posa.
+Ov' è il silenzio, che'l dì fugge, e'l lume?
+  E i lievi sogni, che con non secure
+  Vestigia di seguirti han per costume?
+Lasso, che'nvan te chiamo, e queste oscure,
+  E gelide ombre invan lusingo; oh piume
+  D'asprezza colme; oh notti acerbe, e dure!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET, TO SLEEP.
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Son of the silent, dark, and humid Night,
+  Consoler of the wretched, by whose sway
+The gloomy train of ills are put to flight,
+  That blacken Life's uncertain, tedious day,
+
+O! succour now this restless, pining heart!
+  Give to these feeble, weary limbs repose!
+Fly to me, Sleep! and let thy sombre wings
+  Over my couch their dusky plumes disclose!
+
+O! where is Silence, who avoids the light?
+  Where the wild dreams that flutter in thy train?
+Alas! in vain I call thee, cruel Night!
+  And flatter these insensate shades in vain.
+
+And oh! without thy cheering dews are shed,
+How full of hardships is the downy bed!
+
+
+
+
+EDITHA.
+
+
+Breathing the violet-scented gale,
+  Near to a river's limpid source,
+Which, through a wide-extended vale,
+  Wound slowly on its sleeping course,
+
+Attended by a youthful pair,
+  With rubied lip and roving eye,
+Oft would fair Editha repair,
+  And let her children wander nigh.
+
+There pleas'd behold their footsteps turn,
+  To each new object in their way,
+Their ringlets glittering in the sun,
+  Their faces careless, blythe, and gay.
+
+Once, when they drest their flaxen hair,
+  With flow'rets wild of various hue,
+And with a proud, exulting air,
+  To their delighted parent drew:
+
+"Ah! thus may every day arise!
+  And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!"
+The widow'd mother fondly cries,
+  "Before the youthful blossoms fade.
+
+"My sighs are all dispers'd in air,
+  Resign'd to fate, I weep no more,
+Your welfare now is all my care,
+  Yet am I constant as before.
+
+"The world, because a vermil bloom,
+  Tinges my yet unfading cheek,
+Says I forget my William's tomb,
+  A new and earthly love to seek.
+
+"Because I join the social train,
+  With lip that wears a kindred smile;
+And a gay sonnet's lively strain,
+  Does oft the lonely hour beguile:
+
+"Because no longer now I mourn,
+  With sweeping robes of sable hue;
+No more I clasp the marble urn,
+  Or vainly bid the world adieu.
+
+"Ah! ill my secret soul they know,
+  Where my lost hero still remains,
+Where memory makes my bosom glow,
+  And binds me still in closer chains.
+
+"Whoe'er hath seen my William's form,
+  Heighten'd with every martial grace,
+The ever-varying, unknown charm,
+  Which beam'd in his expressive face;
+
+"Or heard his fine ideas try,
+  In Fancy's fairy garb to teach,
+While the sweet language of his eye,
+  Excell'd the eloquence of speech,
+
+"Could ne'er suppose my faith would fail,
+  Or aught again this heart enslave;
+That absence would o'er love prevail,
+  Or hope be bounded by the grave.
+
+"Could all but I his merit know?
+  His wit and talents see?
+And is his name by all below
+  Remember'd, but by me?
+
+"No, ne'er will I the memory lose,
+  Though from my sight thy form is flown,
+Of tenderness for other's woes,
+  And noble firmness in thy own.
+
+"No slavish fear thy soul deprest,
+  Of Death, or his attendant train;
+For in thy pure and spotless breast,
+  The fear of heav'n did only reign.
+
+"Thus, when the still-unsated waves
+  Spread o'er thy head their whelming arms,
+When horrid darkness reign'd around,
+  And lightnings flash'd their dire alarms,
+
+[13]"When, wing'd with death, each moment flew,
+  And blood the foaming ocean stain'd,
+Thy courage cool, consistent, true,
+  Its native energy maintain'd.
+
+"And when the fatal moment came,
+  The bullet enter'd in thy side,
+Only thy spirit's beauteous frame,
+  Its prisoner flying, droop'd and died.
+
+"This is it that consoles my mind,
+  Which to my love aspiring flies,
+And makes me hope, in future days,
+  To hail my William in the skies.
+
+"Should tears from my pale eyelids steal,
+  I teach my children's how to flow,
+And make their little bosoms feel,
+  Before their time, the touch, of woe.
+
+"I will not weep! the world shall see
+  That I a nobler tribute pay;
+More grateful both to heaven and thee,
+  By guiding them in virtue's way."
+
+Embracing then her fondest cares,
+  She cast her raptur'd eyes above,
+And breath'd to heav'n emphatic pray'rs,
+  Of mingled reverence and love.
+
+APRIL 15, 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 13: I know not if I have expressed myself with much clearness
+here, but I meant to describe a sea-fight as concisely as possible.]
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Light breezes dance along the air,
+  The sky in smiles is drest,
+And heav'ns pure vault, serene and fair,
+  Pourtrays the cheerful breast.
+
+Each object on this moving ball
+  Assumes a lovely hue;
+So fair good-humour brightens all
+  That comes within her view.
+
+Her presence glads the youthful train,
+  Reanimates the gay,
+And, round her, by the couch of pain,
+  The light-wing'd graces play.
+
+Her winning mein and prompt reply,
+  Can sullen pride appease;
+And the sweet arching of her eye
+  E'en apathy must please.
+
+To you, with whom the damsel dwells
+  A voluntary guest,
+To you, Maria, memory tells,
+  This tribute is addrest.
+
+The feeble strains that I bequeath,
+  With melody o'erpay;
+And let thy lov'd piano breathe
+  A sweet responsive lay.
+
+Although the mellow sounds will rise,
+  So distant from my ear,
+The charmer Fancy, when she tries,
+  Can make them present here.
+
+Can paint thee, as with raptur'd bend,
+  You hail the powers of song;
+When the light fingers quick descend,
+  And fly the notes along:
+
+Feel the soft chord of sadness meet,
+  An echo in the soul,
+And waking joy the strains repeat,
+  When Mirth's-quick measures roll.
+
+This "mistress of the powerful spell,"
+  Can every joy impart;
+And ah! you doubtless know too well
+  How she can wring the heart.
+
+She rules me with despotic reign,
+  As now I say <I>adieu_;
+And makes me feel a sort of pain,
+  As if I spoke to you.
+
+
+FEB. 14, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMANN'S SOLITUDE.
+
+
+Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye,
+Shrunk from the mere _spectator's_ careless gaze,
+And, in retirement sought the social smile,
+The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice
+Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes,
+And which sounds far more grateful to the ear,
+Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve,
+Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann!
+Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do,
+With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air,
+And tearful eye, averted from mankind.
+No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears
+The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace;
+The kind Samaritan that heals our woes,
+The nurse of Science, and, of future fame
+The gentle harbinger: her meek abode
+Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart,
+E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance,
+In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love,
+And hopes, with fond security, to pass
+The evening of a long-protracted day,
+Serenely joyful, there.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORY OF MR. AGOSTINO ISOLA,
+
+OF CAMBRIDGE,
+
+Who died on the 5th of June, 1797.
+
+
+Awake, O Gratitude! nor let the tears
+Of selfish Sorrow smother up thy voice,
+When it should speak of a departed friend.
+A tender friend, the first I ever lost!
+For Destiny till now was merciful,
+And though I oft have felt a transient pang,
+For worth unknown, and wept awhile for those,
+Whom long acquaintance only made me love,
+No keen regret laid pining at my heart,
+Nor Memory in the solitary hour,
+Would sting with grief, as when she speaks
+Thy virtue, knowledge, wisdom, gentleness,
+Thy venerable age, and says that I
+Had once the happiness to call thee friend.
+
+Yes! I once bore that title, and my heart
+Thought nobler of itself, that one so good,
+So honor'd, so rever'd, should give it me.
+O _Isola!_ when that glad season comes,
+Which brought redemption to a ruin'd world,
+And, like thee, hides beneath the snow of age,
+A gay, benevolent, and feeling heart,
+I hop'd again to hear thy tongue repeat,
+With youthful warmth and zealous energy,
+Those passages, where Poetry assumes
+An air divine, and wakes th' attentive soul
+To holy rapture! Then you promis'd me
+The luxury to weep o'er Dante's muse,
+And fair Italia's loftier poets hail.
+
+                    I have often heard
+That years would blunt the feelings of the soul,
+And apathy ice the once-glowing heart.
+Injurious prejudice! Dear, guileless friend!
+Thou read'st mankind, but saw not, or forgot
+Their faults and vices; for thy breast was still
+The residence of sweet Simplicity,
+Daughter of letter'd Wisdom, and the friend
+Of Love and Pity. Happy soul, farewell!
+Long shall we mourn thee! longer will it be,
+"Ere we shall look upon thy like again!"
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This humble tribute to the memory of my venerated friend, was written in
+the first impulse of my sorrow for his loss, and though unworthy of his
+virtues, is still a small memorial of my respect for a man, on whose
+tomb might justly be inscribed, as I have seen on an old monument:
+
+
+  "Heven hath his soule.
+  He fruits of Pietie,
+  This Towne his want.
+  Our hearts his Memorie."
+
+
+
+
+TO THE NUNS OF BODNEY.
+
+
+Ye holy women, say! will ye accept
+The passing tribute of a humble friend?
+Stranger indeed to you and to your faith,
+But O! I hope not stranger to the zeal,
+Which warm'd your bosoms in Religion's cause.
+When impious men commanded you to break
+The vow which bound your souls, and which in youth
+Warm Piety's emphatic lips had made.
+Say! will ye suffer me on that rude tomb,
+Where she reposes (whose benignant smile,
+Whose animated, life-inspiring eye,
+And faded form, majestic, still appears
+In Thought's delusive hour) to shed a tear?
+On her, whose sainted look, though seen but once,
+I never can forget, till Time shall wrap
+The veil of Death around me, and make dumb
+The voice of Memory. Ah! "how low she lies!"
+No marble monument to speak her praise,
+And tell the world that here a DILLON rests.
+One, who in beauty's prime forsook the world,
+And, _self-bereav'd_ of all it holds most dear,
+Retir'd, to pass the pilgrimage of life,
+In solemn prayer and peaceful solitude.
+Ah, vain desire! Ambition's scowling eye
+Must see the cloister, as the palace, low,
+And meek-ey'd Quiet quit her last abode,
+Ere he can pause to look upon the wreck,
+And rue the wild impatience of his hand.
+
+Hail! blessed spirit! This rude cypher'd stone.
+On which a sister's pensive eye shall muse
+In sorrow, and another relative
+In sweet, though mournful, recollection, bend,
+Shall call a tear into the stranger's eye
+Whene'er he hears the tale, yet make him proud
+That Britain's hospitable land should yield
+All that you could accept, _an humble grave_.
+
+
+
+
+_Written in London, on the 19th of March, 1796._
+
+
+A lov'd companion, chosen friend,
+  Does at this hour depart,
+Whom the dear name of father binds
+  Still closer to my heart.
+
+On him may joy-dispensing heav'n
+  Each calm delight bestow,
+And eas'd of peace-destroying care
+  His life serenely flow!
+
+Did I but know his bosom calm,
+  And free from anxious fear,
+Around me in more cheerful hues
+  Would every scene appear.
+
+And I will hope that he, who ne'er
+  Repin'd at heav'n's decree,
+But ever patient and resign'd,
+  Submissive bent the knee:
+
+Who, best of fathers, never sought
+  For arbitrary sway,
+But free within each youthful mind,
+  Bade Reason lead the way.
+
+Who taught us, 'stead of servile fear,
+  A warm esteem to prove,
+And bade each act of duty spring,
+  From gratitude and love.
+
+Yes, I must hope that generous mind
+  With many cares opprest,
+Shall in the winter of his days
+  With sweet repose be blest.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A friend, a year or two ago, gave me_ Joseph's Reconciliation with
+his Brethren, _as a subject to write upon; but I was afraid of not
+treating it in such a manner as a sacred story deserved, and gave up
+the attempt, when I had written little more than the following lines,
+to account for their not knowing him, although he well remembered them;
+and am persuaded to let them appear here_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They, ere he left them, had attain'd their prime
+And were less alter'd by the hand of Time;
+But, the slim youth no longer met their view,
+Fair, as the fancy e'er a seraph drew.
+Who still, upborne by joy, in smiles was found,
+With step elate that scarcely press'd the ground.
+Before a grief had raz'd his youthful breast,
+Or care had robb'd his brilliant eyes of rest.
+When lofty visions swam before his sight,
+And dreams of empire wrapt his soul at night.
+Whose hair luxuriant flow'd in glossy pride,
+And, from his snowy forehead, wav'd aside;
+Which, vein'd with purest azure, rose serene,
+And threw complacence o'er a rapturous mien.
+The wandering light that sparkled in his eye,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+The speaking form, by each emotion sway'd,
+The voice, that softest music had convey'd,
+Were now matur'd. No more the child they saw,
+But one, with majesty, inspiring awe;
+Whose silken locks no more in ringlets flow,
+But gold and purple bind his manly brow:
+No more the envied robe his limbs invest,
+In all the pomp of eastern monarchs drest.
+The sun of Egypt had embrown'd his face,
+And time had ripen'd every youthful grace.
+
+As when the morn, in vivid colours gay,
+And tender beauty, flies to meet the day,
+Her lively tints lose their primeval hue,
+The white and saffron mingle with the blue,
+A glowing blush o'er the whole ether reigns,
+But not a cloud its genuine tint retains.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+Where yonder mossy ruins lie,
+And desolation strikes the eye,
+A noble mansion, high and fair,
+Once rear'd its turrets in the air.
+There infant warriors drew their breath,
+And learn'd to scorn the fear of death.
+In halls where martial trophies hung,
+They listen'd while the minstrels sung,
+Of pain and glory, toil and care,
+And all the horrid charms of war:
+There caught the fond desire of fame,
+And panted for a hero's name.
+Alas! too oft in youthful bloom,
+Renown has crown'd the early tomb,
+Has pierc'd the widow's bosom deep,
+And taught the mother's eyes to weep.
+She, on whose tale the stripling hung,
+While pride and sorrow rul'd her tongue.
+His father's gallant acts to tell,
+How bold he fought, how bravely fell.
+
+Methinks e'en now I hear her speak,
+I see the tear upon her cheek;
+The musing boy's abstracted brow,
+And the high-arching eye below.
+The stifled sigh and anxious heave,
+The kindling heart which dares not grieve;
+The finely-elevated head,
+The hand upon the bosom spread,
+Proclaim him wrought by potent charms,
+And speak his very soul in arms.
+
+Incautious zeal! what hast thou done?
+The tale has robb'd thee of thy son.
+And while thy pious tears deplore,
+The loss of him who lives no more,
+Ambition wakes her restless fire,
+The boy will emulate his sire,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+_Written April the 18th, 1796_
+
+
+The beauteous queen of social love,
+Descending from the realms above,
+Through the wide space of ether flew,
+With care this little world to view,
+Till, tir'd with wandering, at the last,
+Through every different climate past,
+She sought not out a splendid dome,
+But made this humble cot her home.
+
+The sweetest lyre would strive in vain,
+To sing the pleasures of her reign,
+Whose powerful influence does impart,
+New softness to the feeling heart,
+Bids it each narrow thought resign,
+And fills it with a warmth benign.
+
+From morning till the close of day,
+Here all a grateful homage pay,
+For here she plays her harmless wiles,
+And scatters her endearing smiles;
+Here no proud rivals intervene,
+And all, though glowing, is serene.
+Here, since she first her visit paid,
+Still has the sweet enchantress staid,
+And never met a single slight,
+Or spread her snowy plumes for flight.
+
+Contented 'neath the humble roof;
+No timid heart is kept aloof;
+A kind and condescending guest,
+She lightens each despairing breast;
+Where pain her poignant venom spreads,
+The balm of tenderness she sheds,
+Which breathes a calm repose around,
+And heals at last the burning wound.
+
+When the heart throbs with bitter woe,
+Her winning mien disarms the foe,
+And the kind glances of her eye,
+Force the desponding power to fly.
+She gives a zest to every joy,
+Forbids tranquillity to cloy,
+Softens misfortune, chases fear,
+And balm distills in every tear.
+'Tis she alone can make us know,
+A truly blissful hour below,
+Can smooth the furrow'd brow of life,
+And hush the thundering voice of strife.
+
+O, may she still exert her power,
+Still lead us to the rural bower,
+Which vaunting Pride does ne'er disgrace,
+Or critic Envy's spiteful face.
+Here Raymond ever shall delight,
+To sit and watch the closing night;
+And open-hearted Gertrude here,
+With her sweet infant shall appear.
+Here oft her brother shall prepare,
+A wreath for Mary's curling hair;
+While soft-voic'd Anna, fond of play,
+And all the train, alert and gay,
+In healthful games shall frolic round,
+And revel on the mossy ground.
+
+Here Edmund shall forget his care,
+And often fill an elbow chair;
+While Sophia, friendly and sincere,
+Shall ever find a welcome here.
+
+Yet would my hovering fancy trace,
+The features of each happy face;
+And sympathy informs my mind,
+That they the same emotions find;
+That in each scene of harmless glee,
+Memory recalls the absent three:
+And all, though distance strives to part,
+Will hold communion in the heart.
+
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
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+"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" />
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+
+body { margin-left: 20%;
+       margin-right: 20%;
+       text-align: justify; }
+
+    p { text-indent:   0em;
+        margin-top:    0em;
+        text-align:    justify;
+        margin-bottom: 0em; }
+    p.noindent {text-indent: 0% }
+    p.center  {text-align: center;
+           text-indent: 0em;
+           margin-top: 1em;
+           margin-bottom: 1em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; }
+    HR  { width: 66%; }
+    PRE { font-family: Courier, monospaced; }
+    p.poem2 { text-indent: 2em; }
+    p.poem4 { text-indent: 3em; }
+
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+  </head>
+  <body>
+
+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
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+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Elegies and Other Small Poems</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Matilda Betham</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 20, 2004 [eBook #11193]<br />
+[Most recently updated: June 24, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS ***</div>
+
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS
+    </h1>
+    <p class="center">
+      <b>BY MATILDA BETHAM.</b>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>To the Hon. LADY JERNINGHAM</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>Madam</i>,
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>The many endearing instances of regard I have experienced
+      since I had the honor of being known to your Ladyship, while
+      they impress my mind with gratitude, flatter my hopes with a
+      favourable reception of the following miscellanies, which,
+      under your patronage, I venture to submit to the public</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>Considered as the first essays of an early period of life,
+      and as the exercises of leisure, my wishes suggest, that they
+      may not, perhaps, be found wholly unworthy of attention; but
+      whatever be their fate with others, I shall feel myself much
+      gratified, if, in your Ladyship's judgment, they may be
+      allowed some merit</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>Though there cannot be a greater pleasure than dwelling on
+      the excellencies of a distinguished and amiable character, I
+      know not that it would be permitted me to indulge my present
+      inclination with enumerating those virtues and endowments
+      which confessedly distinguish your Ladyship, but my wishes I
+      may offer, and that you may long, very long, continue to
+      bless your family, to adorn your rank, and console the
+      unhappy, is the sincere prayer of</i>
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>Your Ladyship's most obliged humble servant, MATILDA
+      BETHAM</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      <i>Stonham, Nov. 20, 1797.</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      TO THE READER.
+    </h2>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      If, in the following pages, there may be found any
+      unacknowledged imitations, I hope I shall not be censured as
+      an intentional plagiarist; for it has been my wish, however I
+      may be esteemed presumptuous, not to be unjust; and I
+      sometimes fear lest an imperfect recollection of another's
+      idea should have appeared to me as a dawning thought of my
+      own. Wherever I could recollect a similar passage, although
+      unnoticed at the time I wrote, it has been either altered or
+      acknowledged.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      I commit these trifles to the press with the anxiety
+      necessarily resulting from a desire that they may not be
+      deemed altogether worthless. Though the natural partiality of
+      the writer may be somewhat strengthened by the commendations
+      of friends and parents, I am well aware that no apology can
+      give currency to imperfection.
+    </p>
+    <p style="margin: 1em; text-indent: 1em;">
+      I have not vainly attempted to ascend to the steeps of
+      Parnassus. If, wandering at its foot, I have mistaken
+      perishable shrubs for never-dying flowers, the errors of a
+      youthful mind, first viewing the fascinating regions of
+      fancy, will not be rigidly condemned; for wherever there is
+      true taste, there will be genuine candour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CONTENTS.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="Table of Contents" cellpadding="7">
+      <tr>
+        <td colspan="2">
+          <hr />
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_1">To &mdash;&mdash;, with Arthur and
+            Albina</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_1a">Arthur and Albina</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_2">The Fraternal Duel</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_2a">Lines in a Letter to A.R.C.</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_3">The Lonely Walk</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_4">The Outlaw</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_5">Invitation</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_6">Whitsun-Monday</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_7">Philemon</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_8">On a Fan</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_9">To Simplicity</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_10">The Terrors of Guilt</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_11">Cen'lin, Prince of Mercia</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_12">Rhapsody</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_13">Human Pleasure or Pain</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_14">The Complaint of Fancy</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_14a">On the Eve of Departure from
+            O&mdash;&mdash;</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_15">To M.I.</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_16">Translation from Metastasio</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_22">&mdash;&mdash; from Della Casa</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_24">Editha</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_25">To M.I.</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_26">Written in Zimmermann's
+            Solitude</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_27">To the Memory of Mr. Agostino
+            Isola</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_28">To the Nuns of Bodney</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_29">Fragment</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_30">Fragment</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#RULE4_31">Written April 18, 1796.</a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+      <tr>
+        <td colspan="2">
+          <hr />
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_1"><!-- RULE4 1 --></a>
+      To &mdash;&mdash; WITH ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+    </h2>
+    <p class="center">
+      1794.
+    </p>
+    
+          <p class="noindent">
+            Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey,<br/>
+            Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray:<br/>
+            Let Criticism then her distance keep,<br/>
+            And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep;<br/>
+            For, let whatever sentence be their due,<br/>
+            I feel I cannot censure bear from you.
+          </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the
+      battle, on a hill, where, at its commencement, she had
+      retired to make vows to heaven for his
+      success.&mdash;Evening</i>.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_1a"><!-- RULE4 1a --></a>
+      ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And yet I hear not in the silent vale,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A sound to tell me Arthur does return.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And loud applause repay successful toils!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Reward the flame, ye great celestial pow'rs,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The noble flame that in his bosom glows!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Inspire him, Druids, from your holy bow'rs,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes!<a href="#note-1">1</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Make him terrific by some potent charm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And add new lightening to his piercing eye!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The Roman banners may less proudly flow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then he may humble their detested name,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And their high plumes wave o'er' a British brow!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then may his chariot,<a href="#note-2">2</a> wheeling
+            o'er the plain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Hurl death and desolation all around,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While his intrepid front appals their train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And make our proud invaders bite the ground!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But yet I hear no lively foot advance;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear!'
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And I may carve this eagle-darting lance
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            For one, whose voice I never more shall hear!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor heav'n, propitious, smil'd upon my pray'r;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And ah! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To plunge me in the horrors of despair!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield&mdash;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Alas! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, what can valour, when th'extended
+               shield<a href="#note-3">3</a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            May leave, so oft, his gen'rous bosom bare?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Can you in vain extend your spotless hands?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And save its altars from unhallow'd bands?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh yes! I'll fear no more! The sacred
+               groves,<a href="#note-4">4</a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Hidden from weak, unconsecrated eyes:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Piercing, with uprais'd eyes, each mist that shrouds,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, listening, catch the heav'n-dictated verse,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By airs etherial wailed from the clouds:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            It ne'er can be&mdash;but hark! I hear the sound
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of some one's step; yet not the youth I love;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            He would have flown, and scarcely touch'd the ground,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Not ling'ring thus, with weary caution, move.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The heavy wanderer approaches nigh,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            But the drear darkness skreens him from my views
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, gracious heav'n! it was my Arthur's sigh,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh speak! inform me what I have to fear!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Speak, and relieve my doubting, trembling heart!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To thy Albina, with a tongue sincere,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A portion of thy wretchedness impart!"
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Sweet maid," replied the wounded, dying youth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In accents mournful, tremulous and slow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Yes, I will ever answer thee with truth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The tow'ring, sacrilegious eagle<a href="#note-5">5</a>
+            flew;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When from the field indignant they withdrew.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The glowing beauties of that joyful sight;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ill can my breast, with keenest torture wrung,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To others then I leave the envied strain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which shall for ages rend the British air;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor will thy partial ear expect, in vain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To find the humble name of Arthur there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I go, while now the victory is warm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The just reward of valour to obtain;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Soon I return, clad in a nobler form,<a href="#note-6">6</a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Again to triumph, and again be slain.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! then, my dear Albina, cease to grieve,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For, though my present favour'd form I leave,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            This constant heart shall still be only thine.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Alas! e'en now I feel the icy hand
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of hasty death, press down my swelling heart;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            E'en now I hear a sweet aerial band,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Remember that he bravely, nobly died;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Remember that he quickly will return,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And claim again his lov'd, his destin'd bride."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And parting life streamed forth at every vein,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His quivering lip, in whispers, softly said,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            "Remember, Arthur dies to live again!"
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Oh stay, dear youth!" the hapless maiden cries,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My best-lov'd Arthur, but one moment stay!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            So lately lighted at the torch of day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! yet once more, that look of tender love,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of fond regret, my Arthur, let me view!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Let one more effort thy affection, prove,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bid me once, once more, a long adieu.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Now, ere the moon withdraws her feeble light,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Ope yet again on me thy fading eye!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            He hears not! memory has ta'en her flight,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And vanish'd with that last convulsive sigh.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Why did I variegated wreaths prepare,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To pay the conqueror every honor due?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Or, why, with fillets, bind my flowing hair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And tinge my arms of the bright azure hue?<a href="#note-7">7</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh! must this constant bosom beat no more?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            This skilful hand no more direct the spear?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Must lost Albina still her fate deplore,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And ever drop the unavailing tear?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Must I no more that lovely face review,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Expressing each emotion of the mind?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No more repeat a sweetly sad adieu?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No more gay chaplets on his forehead bind?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His forehead, high and fair, with martial grace,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bold, free curls of glossy chesnut crown'd;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The full, dark eye-brow which adorn'd his face,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            O'erwhelming foes with terror as he frown'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His voice, though strong, harmoniously clear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No more shall fill Albina with delight;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No more shall sooth her still-attentive ear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And make her fancy every sorrow light.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Farewell to love, to happiness, and joy!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Yet will I cull the summer's choicest bloom;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Funereal chaplets shall my time employ,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And wither daily on my Arthur's tomb."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            As thus she mourn'd, with bitterest woe opprest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A ray of light illumin'd all the grove,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And a consoling voice the fair addrest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In the soft accents of parental love.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though still she clasp'd her hero's valued corse,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            She slowly rais'd her languid, streaming eyes,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And own'd astonishment's resistless force,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The form was clad in robes of purest white,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That swept with solemn dignity the ground;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which reign'd in awful majesty around.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The silver beard did reverence demand,<a href="#note-8">8</a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And told her that a holy bard was there,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which threw a lustre on the waving hair.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            United with the wisdom of the sage;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And speaking, with the simple voice of truth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            He blended the solemnity of age.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Arise! thou loveliest of misfortune's train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And cease these weak, desponding tears to shed;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The soft effusions of thy grief restrain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The youth you mourn, far from these scenes of woe,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To worlds of never-ending joy is flown;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And his fair temples wear a princely crown.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah then, presumptuous! question not the skies,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Attend to this, and cease your fruitless sighs,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            You soon shall meet where you can part no
+               more."<a href="#note-9">9</a>
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Awe-struck, his sacred wisdom she confest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which pour'd sweet consolation on her mind;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            She cross'd her blood-stain'd hands upon her breast,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bow'd her humble, grateful head, resign'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            AUGUST 27, 1794.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-1"><!-- Note Anchor 1 --></a>1: Alluding to the
+      armour of the Romani.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-2"><!-- Note Anchor 2 --></a>2: The Britons
+      fought in low chariots, which they could leave and re-ascend
+      at pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-3"><!-- Note Anchor 3 --></a>3: The shield
+      being their only armour, when held out to protect a wounded
+      or dying friend, left them defenceless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-4"><!-- Note Anchor 4 --></a>4: The groves were
+      consecrated to the celebration of religious mysteries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-5"><!-- Note Anchor 5 --></a>5: The Roman
+      standard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-6"><!-- Note Anchor 6 --></a>6: The Druids are
+      said to have preached the doctrine of transmigration, in
+      order to inspire their warriors with the greater contempt of
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-7"><!-- Note Anchor 7 --></a>7: The practice of
+      staining themselves with blue was common among the Britons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-8"><!-- Note Anchor 8 --></a>8: The people,
+      excepting the priests, shaved off all the hair from their
+      faces, but what grew on the upper lip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-9"><!-- Note Anchor 9 --></a>9: This equivocal
+      manner of speech may be supposed natural enough in one of
+      this order of priests, who, it is said, held a more refined
+      idea of a future state than they preached to the people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p style="text-align: right;">
+            SHENSTONE.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_2"><!-- RULE4 2 --></a>
+      THE FRATERNAL DUEL.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            'Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No more may I its sparkling glories view!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No more its piercing lustre meet my eye!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            On night's black wings my only comfort flew;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            At breath of morn I sicken and I die.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where can I fly? In what sequester'd clime
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Does darkness ever hold her ebon reign?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where woeful dirges measure out the time,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And endless echoes breathe the sullen strain.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where dreary mountains rear their low'ring heads,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To pierce the heavy and umbrageous clouds;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And where the cavern dewy moisture sheds,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And night's thick veil the guilty mourner shrouds.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There, lost in horrors, I might vent my sighs;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To open misery myself resign;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Might snatch each torturing vision ere it flies,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And feast on prospects desolate as mine.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh! let me thither quickly take my flight,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And chuse a favourite and a final seat,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            In scenes which would each gentler mind affright,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            But for my guilt affords a fit retreat.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There, where no ray, no gleam of light could come,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            There, and there only, could I find relief;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There might I ruminate on Edward's doom,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lose myself in luxury of grief.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, as it is, though joys around me shine,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though pleasure here erects her dazzling brow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Wrapt in despondence, will I droop and pine,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And tears of anguish shall for ever flow.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh Edward! could'st thou see this alter'd frame,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which youthful graces lately did adorn!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Could'st thou behold, and think me still the same,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thy once gay friend, thus hapless and forlorn?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The cheek, so late by ruddy health embrown'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Now pale and faded with incessant tears;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The eye, which once elate, disdain'd the ground,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Now sunk and languid in its orb appears.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh! never, never will I cease to grieve!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sure repentance pardon may obtain!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Can woe unfeign'd incite heav'n to relieve
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A wretch opprest with agonizing pain?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah no! my hands are stain'd with brother's blood!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A father's curses load my sinking head!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I wish to die, but dare not pass the flood,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            For there, as well as here, my hopes are fled.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sleep, which was meant to chase away the thought,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To lull the sound of dissonant despair,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Appears to me with added terrors fraught,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And my torn heart can find no refuge there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            If, for a moment, I its fetters wear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And its soft pressure these pale eyes controul,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I injur'd Emma's just reproaches hear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or Edward's form appals my shrinking soul.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When in those transitory sleeps I lie,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I oft his beauteous, bleeding form review;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A mild, benignant lustre lights his eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As come to bid a friend a last adieu.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I start, I shudder at his tuneful voice,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When it, in soothing whispers, meets my ear;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That sound, which oft has made my heart rejoice,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I now all-trembling and affrighted hear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Was it thy fault, dear, much-lamented youth
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            If lovely Emma did thy suit prefer?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            She saw thee form'd of tenderness and truth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And kings might glory to be lov'd by her.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thy native sweetness won her artless heart;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And well our different characters she knew;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Whilst thy mild looks did happiness impart,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            She saw the murderer in each glance I threw.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet for this, meanly, did I thee upbraid,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And basely urg'd an elder brother's right;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then, calling impious passion to my aid,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Forc'd thee, unwilling, to the fatal fight.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh! ne'er shall I forget the dreadful hour,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I sheath'd my weapon in thy noble breast;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thy dying hand clasp'd mine, with feeble pow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And to thy mangled bosom fondly prest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Whilst o'er thee, I, in speechless anguish hung,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thou saw'st the wild distraction of my eye;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, though the chills of death restrain'd thy tongue
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thy bosom heav'd a sympathetic sigh.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With cruel tenderness my friends contriv'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To bear me from the drear, polluted shore;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Of every joy, of peace itself depriv'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which this despairing breast shall know no more.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Since this what frenzy has inspir'd my mind!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My tortur'd mem'ry cannot it retrace;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No relique now of former days I find,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            But horrors, which e'en madness can't efface.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            My dearest brother, and my tenderest friend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            O come, and save me from this dark abyss!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Draw hence the darts which my rack'd bosom rend!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bear me with you to the realms of bliss!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! whence that pang which smote my shuddering heart?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where now, for refuge, can lost Anselm fly?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            'Tis Death! I know him by his crimson dart!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And, am I fit? Oh heav'ns! I cannot die!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            My spirit is not form'd for rapid flight;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            It cannot cut the vast expanse of air,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No, never can it reach the realms of light,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            For sin, a weight immoveable, lies there!'
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thus wretched Anselm rav'd: unhappy youth!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though passion hurried thee so far astray,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thy infant soul ador'd the God of Truth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And virtue usher'd in thy vernal day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh! had he learn'd his passions to restrain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And let cool reason in his breast preside,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His op'ning wisdom had not bloom'd in vain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor had he, ere the prime of manhood, died.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet, if remorse could expiate his guilt,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            If the worst sufferings could the crime erase,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            If tears could wash away the blood he spilt,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Then Anselm's penitence obtain'd him grace.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            AUGUST 20, 1794.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_2a"><!-- RULE4 2 --></a>
+      IN A
+    </h3>
+    <h2>
+      LETTER to A.R.C.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED<br/>
+      ANNA.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Forgive me, if I wound your ear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By calling of you Nancy,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Which is the name of my sweet friend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The other's but her fancy.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, dearest girl! how could your mind
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The strange distinction frame?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The whimsical, unjust caprice,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which robs you of your name.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <i>Nancy</i> agrees with what we see,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A being wild and airy;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Gay as a nymph of Flora's train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Fantastic as a fairy.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But <i>Anna's</i> of a different kind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A melancholy maid;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Boasting a sentimental soul,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In solemn pomp array'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh ne'er will I forsake the sound,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            So artless and so free!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Be what you will with all mankind.
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            But <i>Nancy</i> still with me.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_3"><!-- RULE4 3 --></a>
+      THE LONELY WALK,
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      To W.S.B.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            When the grey evening spreads a calm around,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Tell me, has thy bewilder'd fancy sought,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Retir'd in some sequestered spot of ground,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Rest, from the labour of eternal thought?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            In dream-like musing every care we lose,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And wind our way with slowly-moving feet.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oft, to indulge the thought-exploded sigh,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When, slowly wandering at the close of day,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Light emanations from th'abstracted eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With transient beauty in the sun-beams play,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thy sister seeks the solitary shade.
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Her mind inhaling the aerial gloom,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sees, not-observing, the fair landscape fade,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sullen mist usurping day-light's room.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Not her's the feelings which regret inspires,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When sorrows keen have made the spirits low;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Adversity has damp'd the youthful fires,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And all the tears that fall are tears of woe.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah no! possessing every social bliss,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I cannot, will not at my fate repine;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Or ask for happiness excelling this,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When such a world of treasures now are mine!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, when the melancholy grove I seek,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Scarce can my palpitating heart controul,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While silent tears are trembling on my cheek,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The flood of pleasure swelling in my soul.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But soon my too-elated thoughts are calm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The tumults of the mental chaos cease;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A soft oblivion the rais'd senses charm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lull to a reflecting, soothing peace.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Hail, sweet enhancements of the languid mind!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Whose calm reposes restless worldlings scorn;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But from whose aid recruited strength we find,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And waken, lively as the bird of morn.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And thou, lov'd boy, in whose congenial breast,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I doubt not but those sentiments reside;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For we, our thoughts, our actions have confest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As much in hearts as persons are allied;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Hail thou, my brother! may thy steps be led
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By heav'nly wisdom through this world of care,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And gain the realms for which our Saviour, bled!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor pain, nor lassitude await us there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            OCTOBER 13, 1794.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>The first Percy, who came over with William the Conqueror,
+      married a Saxon lady, called Emma de Port, said to have been
+      the daughter of the last Saxon Earl of Northumberland, whose
+      possessions had been given to him (Lord William de Percy) for
+      his services</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>I have taken the liberty of supposing this lady to have
+      had a brother.</i>
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_4"><!-- RULE4 4 --></a>
+      THE OUTLAW.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Before the fair Aurora spread
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Her azure mantle o'er the skies,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While sleep its pleasing influence shed,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            On grateful mortals weary eyes,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Emerg'd from a surrounding wood,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            On a bleak mountain's sullen brow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A solitary outlaw stood,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And view'd, through mist, the world below.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With deep regret his bosom fraught,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            His arms were wreath'd in sorrow's knot<a href="#note-10">10</a>;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor seem'd he yet, by patience taught,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To bear submissively his lot.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Hidden was each enlivening grace;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Deprest by his untimely doom;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A hectic flush o'erspread his face,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Instead of nature's florid bloom.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Untutor'd in the school of grief,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            His pining spirit spoke in sighs;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though almost hopeless of relief,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            He look'd around with eager eyes;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And fondly bent an anxious ear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To the slow murmuring of the breeze,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Essaying oft, in vain, to hear
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A friendly step beneath the trees.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Delusive wish!" at last he cried,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            "Why wilt thou fill my aching breast?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And thus my miseries deride,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By telling how I might be blest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No kind consolers hither bend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By sympathy to ease my care;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Here comes no ever-faithful friend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Who yet might shield me from despair.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "The abbey's well-known tow'r I seek,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            It fades from my impassion'd eye;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The fancied outlines softly break,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And melt into the distant sky.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No pitying object now remains,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That I may know those scenes are near,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where generous love and friendship reigns,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And Alwin's name may claim a tear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "And you, my lov'd paternal groves,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where I no more must shew my head;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            In your fair walks a stranger roves,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And treacherous Normans daily tread!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "E'en now their presence may prophane
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The halls where Herbert did reside!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            E'en now may joy and gladness reign,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And Adelaide be Percy's bride.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Yet no! her soul, the seat of truth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Would ne'er a second love receive!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The sacred vows of artless youth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Her Alwin ever shall believe!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "They still shall comfort my sad heart,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sooth the anguish of my mind;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Shall still a cheering hope impart,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And make me somewhat more resign'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah! yet I hear her trembling hand,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Withdraw the bolt to set me free!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet hear the hasty, kind command,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My Alwin fly, and live for me!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No other can obtain my love!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I would for thee the world resign!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then let thy prompt obedience prove
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That thou art truly, wholly mine."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "And ever to her promise true,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No pleasure shall her soul elate,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For, yet her constant thoughts pursue
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A wretched Outlaw's hapless fate!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "In vain proud Ranulph<a href="#note-11">11</a> shall
+            upbraid,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My Adelaide is still the same!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, for thy sake, dear, lovely maid,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I will not curse the Norman name!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Not, though my father's large domains,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Are plunder'd by the murderous bands;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And my Northumbria's fertile plains,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Lie wasted by their cruel hands;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Though, as a son, I mourn the fate
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of those, to whom my life I owe;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And hate the hearts that thus create
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The dimness of severest woe;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Though I behold no friendly steel,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To give my Emma vengeance, drawn;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And though a brother's pangs I feel,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To know her destitute, forlorn;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Though, banish'd from the sight of day,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In dreary solitude I pine;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, forc'd to feel a tyrant's sway,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Each dear paternal right resign;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Yet will I seal my lips; nor dare
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To extricate my haughty foes:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The hateful, guilty root I spare,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which can produce so fair a rose.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "But thou, my heart, wilt thou be calm?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Oh! tell me, can reflection cease;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And this fond bosom, now so warm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Be ever tranquilliz'd to peace!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah, no! a father's scornful eye
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Is ever present to my view;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And tells me, Herbert dar'd to die,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though Normans could his son subdue.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Each feeble plea his soul disdains,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            They cannot for the fault atone;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though, when I left Northumbria's plains,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I had not fifteen summers known.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "And hear me, Herbert, when I swear
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            It was not fear that urg'd my flight;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A worthless life was not my care,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I thought but of a parent's right.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Then pardon that my youth comply'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To ease a mother's anxious fears
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That, when I rather would have died,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I yielded to a sister's tears.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Alas! a peasant's humble shed,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Soon saw our sainted parents' death,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who, while our hearts in anguish bled,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With pious hopes resign'd her breath.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "When mists foretel the ev'ning near,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And clouds of chilling dew arise,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            We sought the grave of her so dear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And offer'd there our tears and sighs.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "'Till mild reflection lent her aid,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bade our filial sorrows cease;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The fever of our souls allay'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            We sunk into a mournful peace.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "My pensive bosom strove to keep
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A dying mother's last request;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I let the thoughts of vengeance sleep,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And studied to make Emma blest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No longer shunning of the dawn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or seeking the sequester'd shade,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I call'd my sister to the lawn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And trod with her the flow'ry glade.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Submitting to our wayward fate,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I talk'd not of the treasures flown;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But still seem'd easy and sedate,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            While pressing verdure not my own.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Then all I wish'd, and all I fear'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Was by fraternal love inspir'd;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And one, by every tie endear'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The only friend my soul desir'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Yet soon that pleasing calmness fled,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A Norman beauty won my heart,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Imperious love my footsteps led,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And bade all secrecy depart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "I own'd the splendour of my race,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Altho' a peasant's form I bore;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I fancied silence was disgrace,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And hid my sentiments no more.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Her father's tongue my fate decreed,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And doom'd great Herbert's son to shame;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For, tho' by love from prison freed,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I bear an outlaw's hateful name.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "My sister no fond friend can shield,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No relative allay her grief;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For tyranny all hearts hath steel'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And nought can give her soul relief.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "With ev'ry quality to charm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A guardian will not heaven allow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To screen thy artless youth from harm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And, fair deserted! help thee now!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No aid, no comfort, can be nigh!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And shall thy brother here remain?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Has he not fortitude to fly,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And burst the heavy, servile chain?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Why should I linger here alone,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Unseen by every human eye?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To live unfriended and unknown,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And in this dreary desart die.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "For now the sun-beams gild the sky,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And give the misty morning grace,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Far from the light I'm doom'd to fly,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Abandon'd by the human race.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "But no! I'll bear suspense no more!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Too dear a price to purchase breath;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I'll seek the scenes I yet deplore,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And meet a welcome, wish'd-for, death."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Tortur'd to frenzy, Alwin flew,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And as he left his sad retreat,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            He, turning, look'd a last adieu,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And shook the dew-drops from his feet.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His hurried steps nor press'd the ground,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor pointed out the path he came;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, though so long the way he found,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Despair buoy'd up his fainting frame.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The sun shot forth a feeble ray,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            But hid his glorious orb from sight,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And the pale evening's modest grey,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Had soften'd the too-glaring light,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When Alwin reach'd the humble cot,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That once he did with Emma share,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, weeping, hail'd the well-known spot,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In vain, for Emma was not there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Repuls'd, he turn'd his languid eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where Ranulph's lofty turrets rose;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, heaving disappointment's sigh,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            He sought the mansion of his foes.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His faltering step, when there he came,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A proud, disdainful air possest;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Memory recall'd his former shame,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And indignation fill'd his breast.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            He enter'd, in his wild attire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With hasty pace and haggard brow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Scorn fill'd his azure eye with fire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And gave his cheeks a deeper glow.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            A graceful knight who met his view,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Sat pleading by a lady's side;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And Alwin's jealous bosom knew
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Lord Percy, and his fated bride.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Mistaken youth! thy eyes have seen,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The persons pictur'd in thy mind;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But who is that, with pensive mien,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And forehead on her hand reclin'd?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            O'er whom Lord Ranulph fondly bends,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With sorrow seated on his brow;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While the regretting tear descends
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            O'er his pale cheek, in silent woe.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah! is it thus?" sad Alwin said,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The fancied bride the accents knew,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Lord Percy rais'd his drooping head,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lovely Emma met his view.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Then rapture and surprize prevail'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Each bosom felt confus'd delight;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While his return the mourner hail'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And thus his sorrows did requite.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "O, dearest Alwin, now no more
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My father disapproves our flame;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No longer we thy loss deplore,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or tremble to pronounce thy name.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "A noble friend has gain'd our cause,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And vanquish'd all his former hate;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who, ere he own'd a lover's laws,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With generous tears had wept thy fate."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Yes, injur'd youth," Lord Ranulph cried,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            "Thou art this day my chosen heir;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            In Adelaide behold thy bride,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thy sister's future husband, there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Lord Percy, to a candid mind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Unites a fervour like thy own;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And Emma, not to merit blind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Refers his cause to thee alone.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "If thou wilt grant his fond desire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            'Twill gain a brave, a noble friend;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And the possessions of thy sire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To his posterity descend."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "And did my Emma stay to hear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Her brother sanctify her choice?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah Percy! now you need not fear
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            From Alwin, a dissenting voice.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Blest in my love, in Emma blest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            My heart each cherish'd wish obtains;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Northumbrians, now no more opprest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Shall own a son of Herbert reigns.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "May ye rebuild the peasant's cot,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Exalt the woe-depressed head,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And o'er each desolated spot,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The fostering calm of quiet spread!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "May sterne reserve and caution cease!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With lenient hand dispense your sway;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Give them the healing balm of peace,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Their wounded spirits will obey.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah! cheer their gloom! dispel their care!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The smile will soon replace the tear;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, wedded to a Saxon fair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The foreign lord no more appear."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            1794.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-10"><!-- Note Anchor 10 --></a>10: "Wreathing
+      his arms in this sad knot."&mdash;SHAKESPERE'S TEMPEST.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-11"><!-- Note Anchor 11 --></a>11: Lord of
+      Cumberland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_5"><!-- RULE4 5 --></a>
+      INVITATION,
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      To J.B.C.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Now spring appears, with beauty crown'd,<br/>
+            And all is light and life around,<br/>
+            Why comes not Jane? When friendship calls,<br/>
+            Why leaves she not Augusta's walls?<br/>
+            Where cooling zephyrs faintly blow,<br/>
+            Nor spread the cheering, healthful glow.<br/>
+            That glides through each awaken'd vein,<br/>
+            As skimming o'er the spacious plain,<br/>
+            We look around with joyous eye,<br/>
+            And view no boundaries but the sky.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Already April's reign is o'er,<br/>
+            Her evening tints delight no more;<br/>
+            No more the violet scents the gale,<br/>
+            No more the mist o'erspreads the vale;<br/>
+            The lovely queen of smiles and tears,<br/>
+            Who gave thee birth, no more appears;<br/>
+            But blushing May, with brow serene,<br/>
+            And vestments of a livelier green,<br/>
+            Commands the winged choir to sing,<br/>
+            And with wild notes the meadows ring.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            O come! ere all the train is gone,<br/>
+            No more to hail thy twenty-one;<br/>
+            That age which higher honor shares,<br/>
+            And well becomes the wreath it wears.<br/>
+            From lassitude and cities flee,<br/>
+            And breathe the air of heav'n, with me.
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            MAY 5, 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_6"><!-- RULE4 6 --></a>
+      WRITTEN ON
+    </h3>
+    <h2>
+      WHITSUN-MONDAY,
+    </h2>
+    <p class="center">
+      1795.
+    </p>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            At an open window sitting,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            On this day of mirth and glee,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            'Cross a flow'ry vista flitting,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Many passing forms I see.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! lovely prospect, stay awhile!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And longer glad my doating eye,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With poverty's delighted smile,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lighten'd step, as passing by;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With labour's spruce and ruddy train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Deck'd out in all their best array,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who, months of toil and care disdain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Paid by the pleasures of a day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The village girl still let me view,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Hast'ning to the neighb'ring fair;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her cap adorn'd with pink or blue,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And nicely smooth her glossy hair.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With sparkling eye and smiling face,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Ting'd o'er with beauty's warmest glow;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With timid air, and humble grace,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With clear and undepressed brow.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Go! lovely girl, and share the day,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To thy industrious merit due;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There join the dance, or choral lay;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thou blooming, village rose, adieu!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And thou, O youth, so blythe and free,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bounding swiftly o'er the plain,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Go, taste the joys of liberty,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And cheer thy spirit, happy swain!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            How different to the lonely hour,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When slowly following the plough,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Self-buoyant joy forgets the pow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which warms thy gladden'd bosom now.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            If some rural prize desiring,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or ambitious of applause,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Loud huzzas thy wishes firing,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thy steady hand the furrow draws;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ne'er a victor fam'd in story,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Greater praise and reverence drew,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Than thou, attir'd in humble glory,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            So, guiltless conqueror, adieu!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh, here a charming group appears!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A cottage family, so gay,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Whose youthful hopes, uncheck'd by fears,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In smiles of thoughtless rapture play.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Here, borne in fond, parental arms,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The infant's roving eye we view;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Boasting a thousand, thousand charms,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Endearing innocents, adieu!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            They go! no more with beating heart,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lively, dancing step to tread;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Unwillingly will they depart,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To seek again their homely shed.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! Eve, I love thy veil of grey,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which will conceal them from my view,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For, bending home their weary way,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            How sad would be our last adieu!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>The following was suggested by reading a whimsical
+      description, given by Scarron, of the deformity of his
+      person, contrasted with its former elegance, in the
+      Curiosities of Literature, vol. 2, page 247</i>.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_7"><!-- RULE4 7 --></a>
+      PHILEMON.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which can delight the eye, or please the ear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Awhile the councils of Philemon hear!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Let not pride lift the thoughtless head too high,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Temerity arch o'er the scornful brow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Contemptuous glances arm the sparkling eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or the high heart with self-complacence glow!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Alas! full soon the eve of life arrives,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though pale Disease's train approach not nigh;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Short is the summer of the happiest lives,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            If no rude storm disturbs the smiling sky.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            This wretched body, bending to the earth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Once, on the wings of health, alert and gay,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Shone forth the foremost in the train of mirth,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And cloudless skies announc'd a beauteous day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            My parents oft, with fond complacence view'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The elegance of my external form;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And thought my mind with excellence endued,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bright as my genius, as my fancy warm.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There was a time, poor as I now appear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I admiration met in every look;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, harsh as now my words may grate your ear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Each tongue was silent when Philemon spoke.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Once could this voice make every bosom thrill,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As it pour'd forth the light or plaintive lay;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And once these fingers, with superior skill,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Upon the lute could eloquently play.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            By partial friendship sooth'd, by flattery fann'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I learnt with conscious grace the dance to lead,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To guide the Phaeton with careless hand,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And rule, with flowing rein, the prancing steed.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sick with the glory of a trifler's fame,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By folly nurtur'd, I was proud and vain;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Till Chastisement in kindest mercy came,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though then her just decrees I dar'd arraign.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The form that sought so late the public view,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That glow'd with transport, as the world admir'd,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Fill'd with false shame, from every eye withdrew,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And to the shades of solitude retir'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Consum'd by fevers, spiritless, forlorn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Blasted by apoplexy's dreadful rage,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            My bleeding heart by keen remembrance torn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I past my prime in premature old age.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I heard my parent's ill-suppressed sighs,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And wish'd myself upon the peaceful bier;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I saw the anguish of their sleepless eyes,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The smile dissembled, and the secret tear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oft, with a kind of gratifying woe,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I recollected every former charm,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, with the spleen of a malicious foe,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Delighted still to keep my sorrows warm.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Where is the lustre of the gladsome eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The airy smile, the animated mien,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            So lately envied, now no longer seen.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "I too have gloried in my waving hair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            No ringlets now remain to raise my pride;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor can I now lay the white forehead bare,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And push the too luxuriant locks aside."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thus, like a child, I sigh'd for pleasures past,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lost my hours in a delusive dream;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But Reason op'd my blinded eyes at last,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And clear'd each mist by her refulgent beam.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I saw futurity before me spread,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A scourge or sceptre offer'd to my view,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Alarm'd, from Folly's erring mazes fled,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And to my God with humble rev'rence drew.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I bow'd, submissive, at the holy shrine,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            His mercy with warm gratitude confest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Which had reveal'd the spark of life divine,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That slumber'd in my earth-enamoured breast.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Had I, as friendship and self-love desir'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Still suck'd delirium at the fane of praise,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            I might, my conscience lull'd and passions fir'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Have lost my soul in the bewitching blaze.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Dear rising train, let not my words offend!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Nor the pure dictates of my love despise;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To one, late like yourselves, attention lend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And, taught by his experience, be wise!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! banish from your eye the fiend Disdain;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Let fair simplicity supply its place;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor longer let conceit the bosom stain;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The child of weakness, follow'd by disgrace.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Should time from you each glowing beauty wrest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            You will not then those self-reproaches feel,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Which every eye awaken'd in my breast,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And twenty winters scarce suffic'd to heel.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor will your friends observe each faded charm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Since still your countenance its smile retains,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And the same lov'd companion, kind and warm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With unassuming manners, yet remains.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            SEPT. 8, 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_8"><!-- RULE4 8 --></a>
+      ON A FAN.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Now I've painted these flowers, say what can I do,<br/>
+            To render them worthy acceptance from you?<br/>
+            I know of no sybil, whose wonderful art<br/>
+            Could to them superior virtues impart,<br/>
+            Who, of magical influence wonders could tell,<br/>
+            And, who over each blossom could mutter a spell.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            You only the humbler enchantments can prove,<br/>
+            That arise from esteem, from respect, and from
+            love;<br/>
+            With such I assail you, and pow'rful the charm,<br/>
+            When applied to a heart sympathetic and warm;<br/>
+            To a heart such as that, which, if right I divine,<br/>
+            O C&mdash;ll&mdash;n&mdash;n! dwells in that bosom of
+            thine.
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            NOV. 10, 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_9"><!-- RULE4 9 --></a>
+      TO SIMPLICITY.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Fair village nymph, ah! may I meet
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Thy pleasing form where'er I stray!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With open air and converse sweet,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Still cheer my undiscover'd way!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With eyes, that shew the placid mind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And with no feign'd emotions roll;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With mien, that sprightly or resign'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bespeaks the temper of the soul.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            With smiles, where not the lips alone
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Receive a brighter, vermil hue,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The cheek does warmer roses own,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And the eyes beam, a deeper blue!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though Fashion's minions scorn thy pow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And slight thee, 'cause in russet drest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet Joy frequents thy peaceful bow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sorrow flies to thee for rest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The echoing laugh, the rapturous tear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The smile of friendship, gay and free,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Delight but when they are sincere,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And given, lovely nymph, by thee.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When my Rosina reads a tale,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though sweet the tuneful accents flow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No studied pathos does prevail
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To bid the hearer's bosom glow;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her voice to sympathy resign'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Each different feeling can impart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, tell me not, we e'er can find
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A modulator, like the heart!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And Mary's locks of glossy brown,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That fall in waves, with graceful swell,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            In ever-varying ringlets thrown,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The fairest curls of art excel.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Still rob'd in innocence and ease,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Daughter of Truth, shall thou prevail,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When Affectation cannot please,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And all the spells of Fashion fail.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            NOV. 17, 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_10"><!-- RULE4 10 --></a>
+      THE TERRORS OF GUILT.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Yon coward, with the streaming hair,<br/>
+            And visage, madden'd to despair,<br/>
+            With step convuls'd, unsettled eye,<br/>
+            And bosom lab'ring with a sigh,<br/>
+            Is <i>Guilt!</i>&mdash;Behold, he hears the name,<br/>
+            And starts with horror, fear, and shame!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            See! slow Suspicion by his side,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With winking, microscopic eye!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And Mystery, his muffled guide,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With fearful speech, and head awry.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            See! scowling Malice there attend,<br/>
+            Bold Falsehood, an apparent friend;<br/>
+            Avarice, repining o'er his pelf,<br/>
+            Mean Cunning, lover of himself;<br/>
+            Hatred, the son of conscious Fear,<br/>
+            Impatient Envy, with a fiend-like sneer,<br/>
+            And shades of blasted Hopes, which still are hovering
+            near!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            All other woes will find relief,<br/>
+            And time alleviate every grief;<br/>
+            Memory, though slowly, will decay,<br/>
+            And Sorrow's empire pass away.<br/>
+            Awhile Misfortune may controul,<br/>
+            And Pain oppress the virtuous soul,<br/>
+            Yet Innocence can still beguile<br/>
+            The patient sufferer of a smile,<br/>
+            The beams of Hope may still dispense<br/>
+            A grateful feeling to the sense;<br/>
+            Friendship may cast her arms around,<br/>
+            And with fond tears embalm the wound,<br/>
+            Or Piety's soft incense rise,<br/>
+            And waft reflection to the skies;<br/>
+            But those fell pangs which he endures,<br/>
+            Nor Time forgets, nor Kindness cures;<br/>
+            Like Ocean's waves, they still return,<br/>
+            Like Etna's fires, forever burn.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Round him no genial zephyrs fly,<br/>
+            No fair horizon glads his eye,<br/>
+            No joys to him does Nature yield,<br/>
+            The solemn grove, or laughing field;<br/>
+            Though both with loud rejoicings ring,<br/>
+            No pleasure does the echo bring,<br/>
+            Not bubbling waters as they roll,<br/>
+            Can tranquillize his bursting soul,<br/>
+            For Conscience still, with tingling smart,<br/>
+            Asserts his empire o'er his heart,<br/>
+            And even when his eye-lids close,<br/>
+            With clamourous scream affrights repose.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oppress'd with light, he seeks to shun<br/>
+            The splendid glories of the sun;<br/>
+            The busy crowds that hover near,<br/>
+            Torment his eye, distract his ear;<br/>
+            He hastens to the secret shades,<br/>
+            Where not a ray the gloom pervades;<br/>
+            Where Contemplation may retreat,<br/>
+            And Silence take his mossy seat;<br/>
+            Yet even there no peace he knows,<br/>
+            His fev'rish blood, no calmer flows;<br/>
+            Some hid assassins 'vengeful knife,<br/>
+            Is rais'd to end his wretched life.<br/>
+            He shudders, starts, and stares around,<br/>
+            With breathless fright, to catch the fancied sound;<br/>
+            Seeks for the dagger in his breast,<br/>
+            And gripes it 'neath his ruffled vest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Lo! now he plunges in the flood,<br/>
+            To cleanse his garments, stain'd with blood,<br/>
+            His sanguine arm, in terror, laves;<br/>
+            But ah! its hue defies the waves.<br/>
+            Deprest, bewildered, thence he flies,<br/>
+            And, to avoid Detection, tries,<br/>
+            Who, frowning, still before him stands,<br/>
+            The sword of Justice in her hands;<br/>
+            Abhorrent Scorn, unpitying Shame,<br/>
+            And Punishments without a name,<br/>
+            Still on her sounding steps attend,<br/>
+            And every added horror lend.<br/>
+            He turns away, with dread and fear,<br/>
+            But the fell spectres still are near.<br/>
+            Though Falsehood's mazes see him wind!<br/>
+            Yet Infamy is close behind,<br/>
+            Lifting her horn, with horrors fraught,<br/>
+            Whose hideous yell is frenzy to the thought.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Now, maniac-like, he comes again,<br/>
+            And mixes with the jocund train;<br/>
+            But still those eyes that wildly roll,<br/>
+            Bespeak the tempest in his soul.<br/>
+            In yon deep cave he strives to rest,<br/>
+            But Mem'ry harrows up his breast;<br/>
+            He clasps the goblet, foe to Care,<br/>
+            And lo! Distraction hovers there.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to know,<br/>
+            The sad varieties of woe;<br/>
+            Where'er thy footsteps turn, to meet,<br/>
+            An earthquake yawning at thy feet,<br/>
+            While o'er thy head pale meteors glare,<br/>
+            And boding tempests fill the air,<br/>
+            In throbbing anguish doom'd to roam,<br/>
+            Yet never find a peaceful home.<br/>
+            Haste! to the shrine of Mercy hie,<br/>
+            There lift the penitential eye,<br/>
+            With breaking heart thy sins deplore,<br/>
+            And wound Integrity no more!<br/>
+            Repentance then thy soul shall save,<br/>
+            And snatch thee, ransom'd, from the grave.
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            JULY 1796.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>The death of Selred, last King of the East-Saxons, reduced
+      that part of the Heptarchy to dependance on Mercia. The rest
+      is imaginary</i>.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_11"><!-- RULE4 11 --></a>
+      CEN'LIN, PRINCE OF MERCIA.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            When Britain many chiefs obey'd,<br/>
+            And seven Saxon princes sway'd,<br/>
+            The Mercian monarch, fam'd afar,<br/>
+            In peace respected, fear'd in war,<br/>
+            Favour'd by heav'n above the rest,<br/>
+            In his brave son was fully blest;<br/>
+            For none like Cen'lin did arise,<br/>
+            So virtuous, elegant, and wise.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Of partial Mercian eyes the joy,<br/>
+            His parents idoliz'd the boy;<br/>
+            Saw with just pride each op'ning grace,<br/>
+            His charms of mind, of form, and face.<br/>
+            And as he oft, with modest air,<br/>
+            His thoughts and feelings did declare,<br/>
+            His father would delighted hear,<br/>
+            Would fondly drop the grateful tear;<br/>
+            And proudly cast his eyes around,<br/>
+            But not an equal could be found.<br/>
+            Warm from each lip applauses broke,<br/>
+            And every tongue his praises spoke;<br/>
+            The list'ning courtiers spread his fame,<br/>
+            And blessings follow'd Cen'lins name.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Now twenty summer's suns had flown,<br/>
+            And Mercia's hopes were fully blown;<br/>
+            When ah! conceal'd in coarse disguise,<br/>
+            To Selred's<a href="#note-12">12</a> court their
+            darling flies.<br/>
+            Selred, his father's scorn and hate,<br/>
+            Became the ruler of his fate.<br/>
+            There flatter'd, lov'd, the youth remain'd,<br/>
+            Till Cenulph's threats his heir regain'd.<br/>
+            But ah! no more the son of mirth,<br/>
+            His pensive eye now sought the earth;<br/>
+            No more within the dance to move,<br/>
+            Or list to sages, did he love;<br/>
+            But from surrounding friends would fly,<br/>
+            To pour in solitude the sigh.<br/>
+            And soon again the youth withdrew,<br/>
+            Again to th' Eastern-Saxons flew.<br/>
+            His father heard, opprest with woe,<br/>
+            His aged heart forgot to glow;<br/>
+            He learnt his foes an army led,<br/>
+            With youthful Cen'lin at their head,<br/>
+            He call'd his warriors forth to meet,<br/>
+            And stretch the rebel at his feet:<br/>
+            Tears from his eyes in anguish broke,<br/>
+            As thus the aged monarch spoke:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ye Mercians, let your banners fly!<br/>
+            The graceless youth this day shall die!<br/>
+            For, since he dares an army bring<br/>
+            Against his father and his king,<br/>
+            Though dear as life, I will not spare,<br/>
+            Nor listen to affection's pray'r!<br/>
+            If all my people should implore,<br/>
+            I'll pardon the rash boy no more!<br/>
+            His harden'd heart, to duty blind,<br/>
+            No ties of gratitude can bind;<br/>
+            This hoary head would else have rest,<br/>
+            And pleasure warm this aching breast.<br/>
+            Ah, cruel youth! thy wrongs I feel,<br/>
+            More deep than wounds of pointed steel.<br/>
+            For, if forlorn the parent's doom,<br/>
+            Who bears his offspring to the tomb,<br/>
+            Some comfort still his breast may know,<br/>
+            Some soothing thought may calm his woe,<br/>
+            And when he gives a loose to pain,<br/>
+            He feels not that he mourns in vain,<br/>
+            But fancies still his darling nigh,<br/>
+            And grateful for each bursting sigh,<br/>
+            Still bending o'er, with list'ning ear,<br/>
+            Each weeping, fond complaint to hear,<br/>
+            The dear-lov'd phantom hovers round,<br/>
+            And pours a balm in every wound.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "How doubly poignant is my smart,<br/>
+            Bereaved of my Cen'lin's heart!<br/>
+            Exil'd from that deluded breast,<br/>
+            Where I had fondly hop'd to rest,<br/>
+            With faith undoubting, sweet repose,<br/>
+            Till Death should bid my eye-lids close.<br/>
+            And sometimes yet will hope arise;<br/>
+            Till now he ever scorn'd disguise;<br/>
+            Some cursed fiend might taint his youth,<br/>
+            And warp a temper form'd for truth.<br/>
+            When late he humbly knelt for grace,<br/>
+            And clasp'd my knees in close embrace,<br/>
+            Upon his lips a secret hung,<br/>
+            But something seem'd to stay his tongue;<br/>
+            I prest not, for my anger slept,<br/>
+            And fondness only saw he wept;<br/>
+            Ah! fatal haste! then had I known<br/>
+            The serpent, I had sav'd my son!<br/>
+            Yet surely pardon frank as mine,<br/>
+            A noble heart would more confine!<br/>
+            When leaguing with my bitter foe,<br/>
+            To strike some grand, decisive blow;<br/>
+            Perhaps to rob me of my throne,<br/>
+            And make it, ere the time, his own;<br/>
+            Or, should wan guilt a danger dread,<br/>
+            To humble this devoted head,<br/>
+            Each throbbing pang of conscience drown,<br/>
+            And seize, with bloody hands, the crown.<br/>
+            O'er this offence I cast a veil,<br/>
+            And fondly hush'd the whisper'd tale.<br/>
+            Ah fool! deluded by the grace,<br/>
+            Of that fine form, and perfect face;<br/>
+            I thought his bosom free from sin,<br/>
+            Nor dreamt a demon lurk'd within.<br/>
+            His voice, which ever could controul,<br/>
+            Each passion of the hearer's soul,<br/>
+            With ease my partial heart beguil'd,<br/>
+            Who knew no sorrows when he smil'd.<br/>
+            And ah! my friends, your downcast eyes,<br/>
+            Your pensive air, and smother'd sighs,<br/>
+            All tell me you lament the fate,<br/>
+            Of him, whom yet you cannot hate.<br/>
+            And shall I bear then to behold,<br/>
+            That form inanimate and cold,<br/>
+            His smiling lips depriv'd of breath,<br/>
+            His eyes for ever clos'd in death!<br/>
+            Ah no! my heart with anguish swells,<br/>
+            And every throbbing vein rebels.<br/>
+            Let sorrow weep, or anger thrill,<br/>
+            Yet all the parent triumphs still.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Oh Father! who in mercy reigns,<br/>
+            If thy all-ruling will ordains,<br/>
+            That my unhappy Cen'lin dies,<br/>
+            Remove the picture from my eyes!<br/>
+            At the same moment set us free,<br/>
+            Both rebel sons, my God, to thee!"<br/>
+            Thus did the king pour forth his pray'r,<br/>
+            With all the wildness of despair;<br/>
+            Then, stilling every rising sigh,<br/>
+            He calm'd the anguish of his eye,<br/>
+            And though within the burthen lay,<br/>
+            He wip'd the falling tears away.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When lo! there comes a youthful train,<br/>
+            Descending swiftly to the plain,<br/>
+            Drest like the fairest sons of day,<br/>
+            In floating robes and colours gay;<br/>
+            No crested helmets there appear,<br/>
+            No glittering shield or pointed spear,<br/>
+            But youths with honey-suckles crown'd,<br/>
+            Or their fair locks with fillets bound,<br/>
+            Whose circling ranks and varied dyes,<br/>
+            Shew'd like the bow, that gilds the skies.<br/>
+            Whilst in the van a pair were seen,<br/>
+            Of peerless charms and graceful mien;<br/>
+            One lovely form the Mercians knew,<br/>
+            And gladden'd at the pleasing view,<br/>
+            Who, with the glow of youthful prime,<br/>
+            Had all the majesty of time.<br/>
+            And beauteous was the fair he led,<br/>
+            As any fabled Grecian maid;<br/>
+            The nymphs who tend Aurora's car,<br/>
+            And usher in the morning star,<br/>
+            Though made inhabitants of air,<br/>
+            Were not more elegant and fair;<br/>
+            Nor Dian's ever-healthful train,<br/>
+            When skimming o'er the spacious plain.<br/>
+            Had not more pure, more lively dyes,<br/>
+            Or brighter lustre in their eyes.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The king, so late by woe deprest,<br/>
+            Felt hope reanimate his breast,<br/>
+            And as his Cen'lin nearer drew,<br/>
+            His waking hopes more vivid grew.<br/>
+            "My friends," he cried, "will you believe,<br/>
+            That open mien can e'er deceive?<br/>
+            That blooming form can e'er unfold,<br/>
+            A heart ungenerous and cold,<br/>
+            That melting softness of the eye,<br/>
+            Can harbour direst cruelty?<br/>
+            Ah no! a poison's baleful pow'r,<br/>
+            Lurks not beneath so fair a flow'r.<br/>
+            Nor are those youths with amber hair,<br/>
+            Such as fell treason would prepare,<br/>
+            An aged monarch to dethrone,<br/>
+            And hear, unmov'd, a father's groan.<br/>
+            Gay are their looks, no dark disguise,<br/>
+            Dims the mild radiance of their eyes;<br/>
+            No murderous thoughts their souls employ,<br/>
+            But, heralds of transporting joy,<br/>
+            They come to bid suspicion cease,<br/>
+            And sooth my sorrow into peace."<br/>
+            Caution could scarce awhile controul<br/>
+            The strong delights of Cenulph's soul,<br/>
+            When Cen'lin knelt, and by his side<br/>
+            Half-kneeling, bent his lovely bride.<br/>
+            But, when he first essay'd to speak,<br/>
+            A hasty blush pass'd o'er his cheek,<br/>
+            He hung awhile his graceful head,<br/>
+            Till thus, with air confus'd he said:<br/>
+            "I come, by love with honours crown'd,<br/>
+            Yet sorrow casts a shade around,<br/>
+            That when my consort here I bring,<br/>
+            The heiress of a potent king,<br/>
+            The Mercians, clad in armour, come,<br/>
+            To lead their princess to her home.<br/>
+            No joyful hail our nuptial greets,<br/>
+            No proof of love my Ela meets,<br/>
+            But scarlet banners, waving high,<br/>
+            The bridal knot and wreath supply.<br/>
+            Alas! I see mistrust has won<br/>
+            E'en Cenulph's fondness from his son;<br/>
+            Or could my ever-honour'd sire,<br/>
+            A proof of Cen'lin's faith require?<br/>
+            Can force so needful now appear,<br/>
+            To aid a pow'r which I revere?<br/>
+            When eager beauty's form to view,<br/>
+            I first to Selred's court withdrew,<br/>
+            A single wish thy pow'r maintain'd,<br/>
+            A single wish thy son regain'd.<br/>
+            I left the maid whose matchless charms,<br/>
+            Each rooted prejudice disarms,<br/>
+            Who rul'd my heart with sovereign sway,<br/>
+            And taught a Mercian to obey<br/>
+            Laws that East-Saxons can impart,<br/>
+            When wit and beauty string the dart;<br/>
+            Left her when hope my doubts beguil'd,<br/>
+            And on our love her father smil'd.<br/>
+            Oft have I tried to win thine ear,<br/>
+            The fond, romantic tale to hear,<br/>
+            But when I found a lonely hour,<br/>
+            My coward soul has lost the pow'r;<br/>
+            As on my lips the accents hung,<br/>
+            Thy hate to Selred check'd my tongue.<br/>
+            Yet flattering hopes my passion fed,<br/>
+            And from thy court again I fled;<br/>
+            I thought when you my fair beheld,<br/>
+            And knew how greatly she excell'd,<br/>
+            In every charm, each art refin'd,<br/>
+            And virtue of the female mind,<br/>
+            Thy judgment would approve my choice,<br/>
+            And bless it with a cheerful voice.<br/>
+            And ah! though fortune did combine<br/>
+            With love, in making Ela mine,<br/>
+            I cannot from a grief refrain,<br/>
+            Remembering that I gave thee pain.<br/>
+            Yet if thy Cen'lin e'er could please,<br/>
+            If e'er my cares could give thee ease,<br/>
+            Let mild affection now arise,<br/>
+            And beam forgiveness from thine eyes!<br/>
+            No more thy son shall make thee know<br/>
+            A pain, or give thee cause of woe.<br/>
+            No nights the Mercians have to fear,<br/>
+            For all I love is center'd here,"<br/>
+            He spoke, and o'er his father's soul,<br/>
+            A stream of healing comfort stole;<br/>
+            He rose, with slow, majestic grace,<br/>
+            Tears of delight adorn'd his face,<br/>
+            His pious heart with rapture glow'd,<br/>
+            And joy a second youth bestow'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "To meet thee thus, my son," he cried,<br/>
+            "This peerless maiden for your bride,<br/>
+            Bids each distressing thought depart,<br/>
+            And joy again possess my heart.<br/>
+            Fair princess, thine the happy fate,<br/>
+            To heal the wounds of mutual hate;<br/>
+            No longer shall this bosom know,<br/>
+            An Eastern-Saxon as my foe;<br/>
+            And she, who bids that passion rest,<br/>
+            Doubt not, shall be supremely blest;<br/>
+            The part is holy and benign,<br/>
+            Befitting such a form as thine.<br/>
+            This day, far dearer than before,<br/>
+            Kind heav'n does twice my son restore,<br/>
+            For by those speaking looks I see,<br/>
+            Another valued child in thee."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            As then he raised them to his breast,<br/>
+            Around the joyful Mercians prest,<br/>
+            And made their shouts of triumph rise,<br/>
+            To the fair concave of the skies.
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            OCTOBER 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-12"><!-- Note Anchor 12 --></a>12: King of the
+      East-Saxons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_12"><!-- RULE4 12 --></a>
+      RHAPSODY.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Lo! here a cloud comes sailing, richly clad<br/>
+            In royal purple, which the parting beams<br/>
+            Of bounteous Phoebus edge with tints of gold<br/>
+            And lucid crimson. One might fancy it<br/>
+            A noble bird, that laves its graceful form,<br/>
+            And bathes its rosy bosom in the light.<br/>
+            Look! how it swells and rears its snowy crest<br/>
+            With haughty grandeur; while the blue expanse,<br/>
+            In smiling patience lets the boaster pass,<br/>
+            And swell his train with all the lazy vapours<br/>
+            That hover in the air: an easy prey<br/>
+            To the gigantic phantom, whose curl'd wing,<br/>
+            Sweeps in these worthless triflers of the sky,<br/>
+            And wraps them in his bosom. Go, vain shadow!<br/>
+            Sick with the burthen of thy fancied greatness,<br/>
+            A breath of zephyr wafts thee into nothing,<br/>
+            Scatters thy spreading plumes, uncrowns thy front,<br/>
+            And drives thee downward to thy mother earth,<br/>
+            To mix with vapour and dissolve in dew.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Such are the dreams of hope, which to the eye<br/>
+            Of youthful inexperience, seem to touch<br/>
+            The pure, unclouded sky of certainty.<br/>
+            Buoy'd up by the fond eloquence of thought,<br/>
+            And nurtur'd by the smile of vanity,<br/>
+            Each hour the air-born vision gathers bulk,<br/>
+            And Fancy decks it with a thousand hues,<br/>
+            Varied and wild, till it abounds in charms<br/>
+            Which sink the soul to sadness, when the breath<br/>
+            Of gentle Reason breaks the beauteous bubble,<br/>
+            And leaves us nought but vain regret behind.
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            FEBRUARY 1, 1797.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_13"><!-- RULE4 13 --></a>
+      HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            When clouds and rain deform the sky,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And light'nings glare around,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Amidst the dreary, cheerless scene,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Some comfort may be found.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There will, at some far-distant spot,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A streak of light appear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Or, when the sullen vapours break,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The ether will be clear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And if the sun illumes the east,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sheds his gladsome ray,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Some boding mist, or passing cloud
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Will threat the rising day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The heart rejoicing in the view,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And dancing with delight,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oft feels the touch of palsied fear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And sinks at thought of night.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            So Hope's bright torch more clearly shines,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Amidst surrounding gloom,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, beldame Fortune vainly throws
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Her mantle o'er the tomb.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            MARCH 15,1797.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_14"><!-- RULE4 14 --></a>
+      THE COMPLAINT OF FANCY.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      To A.R.C.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            As, musing, late I sat reclin'd,<br/>
+            And waking dreams absorb'd my mind,<br/>
+            A damsel came, of various dyes,<br/>
+            Like painted Iris from the skies;<br/>
+            A purfled saffron was her vest,<br/>
+            And sweet gum-cistus form'd her crest;<br/>
+            In many a playful ring, her hair<br/>
+            Flew light and flossy in the air;<br/>
+            The mantle, blue and gold, she wore,<br/>
+            A rose of opals held before,<br/>
+            While, graceful in her fairy hand,<br/>
+            Appear'd a crimson-tufted wand,<br/>
+            Whose shade on every object threw<br/>
+            A glowing tint of roseate hue.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Whence art thou, blooming nymph?" I cried,<br/>
+            And thus a tuneful voice replied:<br/>
+            "Men call me Fancy; at my shrine<br/>
+            Myriads confess my power divine;<br/>
+            There painters bend the willing knee,<br/>
+            And laurell'd poets sue to me:<br/>
+            For mine is every vivid ray,<br/>
+            Which partial Nature gave the day;<br/>
+            And, to the music of my song,<br/>
+            A thousand nameless charms belong.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "The friend of Happiness, I dwell<br/>
+            Belov'd alike in court or cell;<br/>
+            Where Glory lifts her ardent eye,<br/>
+            With hasty, kindred zeal I fly,<br/>
+            In sun-beams place the hero's form,<br/>
+            And bid his arm command the storm;<br/>
+            On swelling clouds an altar raise,<br/>
+            And fan the tow'ring flame of praise.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Oft, from the lorn enthusiast's lyre,<br/>
+            My fingers strike etherial fire,<br/>
+            And give to sounds of piercing woe,<br/>
+            Extatic rapture's fervent glow.<br/>
+            Oft sooth the maniac's throbbing vein,<br/>
+            And grace her simple, wilder'd strain;<br/>
+            The tribe of Pain in fetters keep,<br/>
+            Lull wounded Memory to sleep,<br/>
+            And, in the mind of gloomy Care,<br/>
+            Bid Thought an angel's semblance wear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Dear to each blest aerial pow'r,<br/>
+            E'en Wisdom calls me to her bow'r;<br/>
+            My songs her leisure hours beguile,<br/>
+            And teach her holy lip to smile.<br/>
+            And, when the Muse, with thoughtful care,<br/>
+            Has woven chaplets for her hair,<br/>
+            I let her, with her myrtles, twine,<br/>
+            Full many a fragrant rose of mine.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Then why, since all the wise and gay,<br/>
+            To me a grateful homage pay,<br/>
+            Since I to all my hand extend,<br/>
+            And, liberal, every heart befriend,<br/>
+            Does Nancy from the croud retire,<br/>
+            And rend my blossoms from her lyre?<br/>
+            Though every string the loss bewail,<br/>
+            And tones of mellow sweetness fail,<br/>
+            Which us'd to charm the pensive ear,<br/>
+            When list'ning Friendship bent to hear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Tell her I wish not to intrude<br/>
+            Upon her sacred solitude,<br/>
+            Nor cast my undulating chain,<br/>
+            Around her glowing heart again;<br/>
+            No! every claim I now resign,<br/>
+            Yet let some small regard be mine;<br/>
+            Let one, who nurs'd her infant years,<br/>
+            And wip'd away some bitter tears,<br/>
+            Still animate the scenes around,<br/>
+            And make her tread on fairy ground;<br/>
+            Give playful sweetness to each lay,<br/>
+            And decorate the passing day.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Tell her, if now she scorns my strain,<br/>
+            She may invoke my name in vain;<br/>
+            In vain my proffered aid implore,<br/>
+            Contemn'd, I hardly pardon more."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            She said, and springing from the earth,<br/>
+            Attending found her suitor Mirth,<br/>
+            Who caught her hand, with lively air,<br/>
+            And plac'd her in his silver chair,<br/>
+            Which through the yielding ether flew,<br/>
+            And quickly bore them from my view.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_14a"><!-- RULE4 14 --></a>
+      ON THE
+    </h3>
+    <h2>
+      EVE OF DEPARTURE
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      From O&mdash;&mdash;
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Loud beats the rain! The hollow groan
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of rushing winds I hear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That with a deep and sullen moan,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Pass slowly by the ear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Soon will my dying fire refuse
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To yield a cheerful ray,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The latest spark away.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, what a night! the chilly air
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bids comfort hence depart,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While sad repining's clammy wings
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Cling icy, to my heart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To-morrow's dawn may fair arise,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lovely to the view;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The sun with radiance gild the skies,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Yet then&mdash;I say adieu!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lingering footsteps move,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though day may be more soft and fair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Not her, but thee, I love.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Stay! and ward off the foe;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Yet tells me I must go.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Forsake these hospitable halls,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To these high towers and ancient walls,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Pronounce a long farewell.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Alas! will Time's rapacious hand,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            These golden days restore?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Or will he suffer me to taste
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            These golden days no more?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Will he permit that here again,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I turn my willing feet?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That my glad eyes may here again,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The look of kindness meet?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That here I ever may behold,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Felicity to dwell,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And often have the painful task
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of sighing out farewell?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By hope's sweet visions fed;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And as I fly to seek repose,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            She flutters round my bed.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            NOV. 17, 1796.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_15"><!-- RULE4 15 --></a>
+      TO M.I.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Thou, Margaret, lov'st the secret shade,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The murmuring brook, or tow'ring tree;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The village cot within the glade,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lonely walk have charms for thee.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To thee more dear the jasmine bow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That shelt'ring, undisturb'd retreat,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Than the high canopy of pow'r,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or Luxury's embroider'd seat.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            More sweet the early morning breeze,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Whose odours fill the rural vale,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The waving bosom of the seas,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When ruffled by the rising gale.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Than all which pride or pomp bestow,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To grace the lofty Indian maid,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who prizes more the diamond's glow,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Than all in humbler vest array'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sweet is the rural festive song,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which sounds so wildly o'er the plain,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When thoughtless mirth the notes prolong,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And heart-felt pleasure pours the strain.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sweet is the dance where light and gay,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The village maiden trips along;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her simple robe in careless play,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As her fleet step winds round the throng.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Sweet is the labourer's blazing fire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When evening shades invite to rest;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Though weary, home does joy inspire,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And social love dilates his breast.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            His rural lass with glee prepares,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The dainties fondness made her hoard;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her husband now the banquet shares,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And children croud around the board.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ah! who could wish to view the air
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of listless ease and languid wealth?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who with such pleasures could compare
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The joys of innocence and health?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            AUGUST 20, 1796.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_16"><!-- RULE4 16 --></a>
+      CANTATA. DEL METASTASIO.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            "D'atre nubi &egrave; il sol ravvolto,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            Luce infausta il Ciel colora.
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            Pur chi sa? Quest' alma ancora
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            La speranza non perd&egrave;.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Non funesta ogni tempesta
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            Co' naufragj all' onde il seno;
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            Ogni tuono, ogni baleno
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem4">
+            Sempre un fulmine non &egrave;."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      TRANSLATION.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Dark, mournful clouds hang o'er the sun,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Lights gleam portentous in the air,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And yet who knows? This troubled heart
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Still gives not up to blank despair.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Not big with shipwrecks every storm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That sweeps the bosom of the main,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Nor does the threatening, turbid sky,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Always the thunder-bolt contain.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      LA FORTUNA. DELLO STESSO.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            A chi serena io miro,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Chiaro &egrave; di notte il cielo:
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Torna per lui nel gelo
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            La terra a germogliar.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ma se a taluno io giro
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Torbido il guardo, e fosco,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Fronde gli niega il bosco,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Onde non trova in mar.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      TRANSLATION.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            To him whom kindly I behold,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The midnight sky is clear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And 'mid the wintry frost and cold,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The blushing flowers appear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But to the wretch who meets my eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When kindled by disdain,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The very grove will leaves deny,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And waveless be the main.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CANTATA DELLO STESSO.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Finch&egrave; un zeffiro soave
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Tien del mar l'ira placata,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Ogni nave
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            &Egrave; fortunata,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            &Egrave; felice ogni nocchier;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &Egrave; ben prova di coraggio
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Incontrar l'onde funeste,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Navigar fra le tempeste,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            E non perdere il sentier.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      TRANSLATION.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Whilst zephyr sooths the angry waves
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of Ocean into rest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Each vessel is in safety borne,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And every pilot blest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But he indeed demands our praise,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Who stems the tempest's force,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And midst the ire of hostile waves,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Pursues his destin'd course.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_22"><!-- RULE4 22 --></a>
+      SONETTO.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      DI GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Oh sonno, oh della cheta, umida, ombrosa
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Notte placido figlio; oh de' mortali
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Egri conforto, oblio dolce de' mali,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            S&igrave; gravi, ond' &egrave; la vita aspra, e nojosa:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Soccorri al core omai, che langue, e posa
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Non have; e queste membra stanche, e frali
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Solleva: a me ten vola, oh sonno, e l'ali
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Tue brune sovra me distendi, e posa.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Ov' &egrave; il silenzio, che'l d&igrave; fugge, e'l
+            lume?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            E i lievi sogni, che con non secure
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Vestigia di seguirti han per costume?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Lasso, che'nvan te chiamo, e queste oscure,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            E gelide ombre invan lusingo; oh piume
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            D'asprezza colme; oh notti acerbe, e dure!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      SONNET, TO SLEEP.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      TRANSLATION.
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Son of the silent, dark, and humid Night,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Consoler of the wretched, by whose sway
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The gloomy train of ills are put to flight,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That blacken Life's uncertain, tedious day,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            O! succour now this restless, pining heart!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Give to these feeble, weary limbs repose!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Fly to me, Sleep! and let thy sombre wings
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Over my couch their dusky plumes disclose!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            O! where is Silence, who avoids the light?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where the wild dreams that flutter in thy train?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Alas! in vain I call thee, cruel Night!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And flatter these insensate shades in vain.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And oh! without thy cheering dews are shed,<br/>
+            How full of hardships is the downy bed!
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_24"><!-- RULE4 24 --></a>
+      EDITHA.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Breathing the violet-scented gale,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Near to a river's limpid source,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Which, through a wide-extended vale,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Wound slowly on its sleeping course,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Attended by a youthful pair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With rubied lip and roving eye,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Oft would fair Editha repair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And let her children wander nigh.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            There pleas'd behold their footsteps turn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To each new object in their way,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Their ringlets glittering in the sun,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Their faces careless, blythe, and gay.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Once, when they drest their flaxen hair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With flow'rets wild of various hue,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And with a proud, exulting air,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To their delighted parent drew:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah! thus may every day arise!
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!"
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The widow'd mother fondly cries,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            "Before the youthful blossoms fade.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "My sighs are all dispers'd in air,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Resign'd to fate, I weep no more,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Your welfare now is all my care,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Yet am I constant as before.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "The world, because a vermil bloom,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Tinges my yet unfading cheek,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Says I forget my William's tomb,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A new and earthly love to seek.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Because I join the social train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With lip that wears a kindred smile;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And a gay sonnet's lively strain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Does oft the lonely hour beguile:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Because no longer now I mourn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With sweeping robes of sable hue;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            No more I clasp the marble urn,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or vainly bid the world adieu.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ah! ill my secret soul they know,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Where my lost hero still remains,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Where memory makes my bosom glow,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And binds me still in closer chains.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Whoe'er hath seen my William's form,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Heighten'd with every martial grace,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The ever-varying, unknown charm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which beam'd in his expressive face;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Or heard his fine ideas try,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            In Fancy's fairy garb to teach,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            While the sweet language of his eye,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Excell'd the eloquence of speech,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Could ne'er suppose my faith would fail,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or aught again this heart enslave;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That absence would o'er love prevail,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Or hope be bounded by the grave.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Could all but I his merit know?
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            His wit and talents see?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And is his name by all below
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Remember'd, but by me?
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No, ne'er will I the memory lose,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Though from my sight thy form is flown,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Of tenderness for other's woes,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And noble firmness in thy own.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "No slavish fear thy soul deprest,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of Death, or his attendant train;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            For in thy pure and spotless breast,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The fear of heav'n did only reign.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Thus, when the still-unsated waves
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Spread o'er thy head their whelming arms,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When horrid darkness reign'd around,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And lightnings flash'd their dire alarms,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            <a href="#note-13">13</a>"When, wing'd with death, each
+            moment flew,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And blood the foaming ocean stain'd,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thy courage cool, consistent, true,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Its native energy maintain'd.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "And when the fatal moment came,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The bullet enter'd in thy side,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Only thy spirit's beauteous frame,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Its prisoner flying, droop'd and died.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "This is it that consoles my mind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Which to my love aspiring flies,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And makes me hope, in future days,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            To hail my William in the skies.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Should tears from my pale eyelids steal,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            I teach my children's how to flow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And make their little bosoms feel,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Before their time, the touch, of woe.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "I will not weep! the world shall see
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That I a nobler tribute pay;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            More grateful both to heaven and thee,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            By guiding them in virtue's way."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Embracing then her fondest cares,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            She cast her raptur'd eyes above,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And breath'd to heav'n emphatic pray'rs,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Of mingled reverence and love.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            APRIL 15, 1795.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="note-13"><!-- Note Anchor 13 --></a>13: I know not
+      if I have expressed myself with much clearness here, but I
+      meant to describe a sea-fight as concisely as possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_25"><!-- RULE4 25 --></a>
+      TO M.I.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Light breezes dance along the air,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The sky in smiles is drest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And heav'ns pure vault, serene and fair,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Pourtrays the cheerful breast.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Each object on this moving ball
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Assumes a lovely hue;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            So fair good-humour brightens all
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            That comes within her view.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her presence glads the youthful train,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Reanimates the gay,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And, round her, by the couch of pain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            The light-wing'd graces play.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Her winning mein and prompt reply,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Can sullen pride appease;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And the sweet arching of her eye
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            E'en apathy must please.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To you, with whom the damsel dwells
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A voluntary guest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            To you, Maria, memory tells,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            This tribute is addrest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The feeble strains that I bequeath,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With melody o'erpay;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And let thy lov'd piano breathe
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A sweet responsive lay.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Although the mellow sounds will rise,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            So distant from my ear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The charmer Fancy, when she tries,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Can make them present here.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Can paint thee, as with raptur'd bend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            You hail the powers of song;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When the light fingers quick descend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And fly the notes along:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Feel the soft chord of sadness meet,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            An echo in the soul,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And waking joy the strains repeat,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            When Mirth's-quick measures roll.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            This "mistress of the powerful spell,"
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Can every joy impart;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And ah! you doubtless know too well
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            How she can wring the heart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            She rules me with despotic reign,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As now I say <i>adieu</i>;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And makes me feel a sort of pain,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            As if I spoke to you.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p class="center">
+            FEB. 14, 1797.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_26"><!-- RULE4 26 --></a>
+      WRITTEN IN
+    </h3>
+    <h2>
+      ZIMMERMANN'S SOLITUDE.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye,<br/>
+            Shrunk from the mere <i>spectator's</i> careless
+            gaze,<br/>
+            And, in retirement sought the social smile,<br/>
+            The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice<br/>
+            Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes,<br/>
+            And which sounds far more grateful to the ear,<br/>
+            Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve,<br/>
+            Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann!<br/>
+            Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do,<br/>
+            With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air,<br/>
+            And tearful eye, averted from mankind.<br/>
+            No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears<br/>
+            The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace;<br/>
+            The kind Samaritan that heals our woes,<br/>
+            The nurse of Science, and, of future fame<br/>
+            The gentle harbinger: her meek abode<br/>
+            Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart,<br/>
+            E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance,<br/>
+            In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love,<br/>
+            And hopes, with fond security, to pass<br/>
+            The evening of a long-protracted day,<br/>
+            Serenely joyful, there.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_27"><!-- RULE4 27 --></a>
+      IN MEMORY OF
+    </h3>
+    <h2>
+      MR. AGOSTINO ISOLA,
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OF CAMBRIDGE,
+    </h3>
+    <p class="center">
+      Who died on the 5th of June, 1797.
+    </p>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Awake, O Gratitude! nor let the tears<br/>
+            Of selfish Sorrow smother up thy voice,<br/>
+            When it should speak of a departed friend.<br/>
+            A tender friend, the first I ever lost!<br/>
+            For Destiny till now was merciful,<br/>
+            And though I oft have felt a transient pang,<br/>
+            For worth unknown, and wept awhile for those,<br/>
+            Whom long acquaintance only made me love,<br/>
+            No keen regret laid pining at my heart,<br/>
+            Nor Memory in the solitary hour,<br/>
+            Would sting with grief, as when she speaks<br/>
+            Thy virtue, knowledge, wisdom, gentleness,<br/>
+            Thy venerable age, and says that I<br/>
+            Had once the happiness to call thee friend.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yes! I once bore that title, and my heart<br/>
+            Thought nobler of itself, that one so good,<br/>
+            So honor'd, so rever'd, should give it me.<br/>
+            O <i>Isola!</i> when that glad season comes,<br/>
+            Which brought redemption to a ruin'd world,<br/>
+            And, like thee, hides beneath the snow of age,<br/>
+            A gay, benevolent, and feeling heart,<br/>
+            I hop'd again to hear thy tongue repeat,<br/>
+            With youthful warmth and zealous energy,<br/>
+            Those passages, where Poetry assumes<br/>
+            An air divine, and wakes th' attentive soul<br/>
+            To holy rapture! Then you promis'd me<br/>
+            The luxury to weep o'er Dante's muse,<br/>
+            And fair Italia's loftier poets hail.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p style="text-align: right">
+            I have often heard
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            That years would blunt the feelings of the soul,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And apathy ice the once-glowing heart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Injurious prejudice! Dear, guileless friend!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Thou read'st mankind, but saw not, or forgot
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Their faults and vices; for thy breast was still
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The residence of sweet Simplicity,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Daughter of letter'd Wisdom, and the friend
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Of Love and Pity. Happy soul, farewell!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Long shall we mourn thee! longer will it be,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            "Ere we shall look upon thy like again!"
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      This humble tribute to the memory of my venerated friend, was
+      written in the first impulse of my sorrow for his loss, and
+      though unworthy of his virtues, is still a small memorial of
+      my respect for a man, on whose tomb might justly be
+      inscribed, as I have seen on an old monument:
+    </p>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            "Heven hath his soule.
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            He fruits of Pietie,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            This Towne his want.
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Our hearts his Memorie."
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_28"><!-- RULE4 28 --></a>
+      TO THE NUNS OF BODNEY.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Ye holy women, say! will ye accept<br/>
+            The passing tribute of a humble friend?<br/>
+            Stranger indeed to you and to your faith,<br/>
+            But O! I hope not stranger to the zeal,<br/>
+            Which warm'd your bosoms in Religion's cause.<br/>
+            When impious men commanded you to break<br/>
+            The vow which bound your souls, and which in youth<br/>
+            Warm Piety's emphatic lips had made.<br/>
+            Say! will ye suffer me on that rude tomb,<br/>
+            Where she reposes (whose benignant smile,<br/>
+            Whose animated, life-inspiring eye,<br/>
+            And faded form, majestic, still appears<br/>
+            In Thought's delusive hour) to shed a tear?<br/>
+            On her, whose sainted look, though seen but once,<br/>
+            I never can forget, till Time shall wrap<br/>
+            The veil of Death around me, and make dumb<br/>
+            The voice of Memory. Ah! "how low she lies!"<br/>
+            No marble monument to speak her praise,<br/>
+            And tell the world that here a DILLON rests.<br/>
+            One, who in beauty's prime forsook the world,<br/>
+            And, <i>self-bereav'd</i> of all it holds most
+            dear,<br/>
+            Retir'd, to pass the pilgrimage of life,<br/>
+            In solemn prayer and peaceful solitude.<br/>
+            Ah, vain desire! Ambition's scowling eye<br/>
+            Must see the cloister, as the palace, low,<br/>
+            And meek-ey'd Quiet quit her last abode,<br/>
+            Ere he can pause to look upon the wreck,<br/>
+            And rue the wild impatience of his hand.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Hail! blessed spirit! This rude cypher'd stone.<br/>
+            On which a sister's pensive eye shall muse<br/>
+            In sorrow, and another relative<br/>
+            In sweet, though mournful, recollection, bend,<br/>
+            Shall call a tear into the stranger's eye<br/>
+            Whene'er he hears the tale, yet make him proud<br/>
+            That Britain's hospitable land should yield<br/>
+            All that you could accept, <i>an humble grave</i>.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      <i>Written in London, on the 19th of March, 1796.</i>
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            A lov'd companion, chosen friend,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Does at this hour depart,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Whom the dear name of father binds
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Still closer to my heart.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            On him may joy-dispensing heav'n
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Each calm delight bestow,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And eas'd of peace-destroying care
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            His life serenely flow!
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Did I but know his bosom calm,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            And free from anxious fear,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Around me in more cheerful hues
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Would every scene appear.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And I will hope that he, who ne'er
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Repin'd at heav'n's decree,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But ever patient and resign'd,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Submissive bent the knee:
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who, best of fathers, never sought
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            For arbitrary sway,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            But free within each youthful mind,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            Bade Reason lead the way.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Who taught us, 'stead of servile fear,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            A warm esteem to prove,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            And bade each act of duty spring,
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            From gratitude and love.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yes, I must hope that generous mind
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With many cares opprest,
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Shall in the winter of his days
+          </p>
+          <p class="poem2">
+            With sweet repose be blest.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p class="center">
+      <i>A friend, a year or two ago, gave me</i> Joseph's
+      Reconciliation with his Brethren, <i>as a subject to write
+      upon; but I was afraid of not treating it in such a manner as
+      a sacred story deserved, and gave up the attempt, when I had
+      written little more than the following lines, to account for
+      their not knowing him, although he well remembered them; and
+      am persuaded to let them appear here</i>.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_29"><!-- RULE4 29 --></a>
+      FRAGMENT.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <hr style="width: 35%" />
+          <p>
+            They, ere he left them, had attain'd their prime<br/>
+            And were less alter'd by the hand of Time;<br/>
+            But, the slim youth no longer met their view,<br/>
+            Fair, as the fancy e'er a seraph drew.<br/>
+            Who still, upborne by joy, in smiles was found,<br/>
+            With step elate that scarcely press'd the ground.<br/>
+            Before a grief had raz'd his youthful breast,<br/>
+            Or care had robb'd his brilliant eyes of rest.<br/>
+            When lofty visions swam before his sight,<br/>
+            And dreams of empire wrapt his soul at night.<br/>
+            Whose hair luxuriant flow'd in glossy pride,<br/>
+            And, from his snowy forehead, wav'd aside;<br/>
+            Which, vein'd with purest azure, rose serene,<br/>
+            And threw complacence o'er a rapturous mien.<br/>
+            The wandering light that sparkled in his eye,<br/>
+            The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,<br/>
+            The speaking form, by each emotion sway'd,<br/>
+            The voice, that softest music had convey'd,<br/>
+            Were now matur'd. No more the child they saw,<br/>
+            But one, with majesty, inspiring awe;<br/>
+            Whose silken locks no more in ringlets flow,<br/>
+            But gold and purple bind his manly brow:<br/>
+            No more the envied robe his limbs invest,<br/>
+            In all the pomp of eastern monarchs drest.<br/>
+            The sun of Egypt had embrown'd his face,<br/>
+            And time had ripen'd every youthful grace.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            As when the morn, in vivid colours gay,<br/>
+            And tender beauty, flies to meet the day,<br/>
+            Her lively tints lose their primeval hue,<br/>
+            The white and saffron mingle with the blue,<br/>
+            A glowing blush o'er the whole ether reigns,<br/>
+            But not a cloud its genuine tint retains.
+          </p>
+          <hr style="width: 35%" />
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h2><a name="RULE4_30"><!-- RULE4 30 --></a>
+      FRAGMENT.
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            Where yonder mossy ruins lie,<br/>
+            And desolation strikes the eye,<br/>
+            A noble mansion, high and fair,<br/>
+            Once rear'd its turrets in the air.<br/>
+            There infant warriors drew their breath,<br/>
+            And learn'd to scorn the fear of death.<br/>
+            In halls where martial trophies hung,<br/>
+            They listen'd while the minstrels sung,<br/>
+            Of pain and glory, toil and care,<br/>
+            And all the horrid charms of war:<br/>
+            There caught the fond desire of fame,<br/>
+            And panted for a hero's name.<br/>
+            Alas! too oft in youthful bloom,<br/>
+            Renown has crown'd the early tomb,<br/>
+            Has pierc'd the widow's bosom deep,<br/>
+            And taught the mother's eyes to weep.<br/>
+            She, on whose tale the stripling hung,<br/>
+            While pride and sorrow rul'd her tongue.<br/>
+            His father's gallant acts to tell,<br/>
+            How bold he fought, how bravely fell.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Methinks e'en now I hear her speak,<br/>
+            I see the tear upon her cheek;<br/>
+            The musing boy's abstracted brow,<br/>
+            And the high-arching eye below.<br/>
+            The stifled sigh and anxious heave,<br/>
+            The kindling heart which dares not grieve;<br/>
+            The finely-elevated head,<br/>
+            The hand upon the bosom spread,<br/>
+            Proclaim him wrought by potent charms,<br/>
+            And speak his very soul in arms.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Incautious zeal! what hast thou done?<br/>
+            The tale has robb'd thee of thy son.<br/>
+            And while thy pious tears deplore,<br/>
+            The loss of him who lives no more,<br/>
+            Ambition wakes her restless fire,<br/>
+            The boy will emulate his sire,
+          </p>
+          <hr style="width: 35%" />
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <h3><a name="RULE4_31"><!-- RULE4 31 --></a>
+      <i>Written April the 18th, 1796</i>
+    </h3>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p>
+            The beauteous queen of social love,<br/>
+            Descending from the realms above,<br/>
+            Through the wide space of ether flew,<br/>
+            With care this little world to view,<br/>
+            Till, tir'd with wandering, at the last,<br/>
+            Through every different climate past,<br/>
+            She sought not out a splendid dome,<br/>
+            But made this humble cot her home.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            The sweetest lyre would strive in vain,<br/>
+            To sing the pleasures of her reign,<br/>
+            Whose powerful influence does impart,<br/>
+            New softness to the feeling heart,<br/>
+            Bids it each narrow thought resign,<br/>
+            And fills it with a warmth benign.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            From morning till the close of day,<br/>
+            Here all a grateful homage pay,<br/>
+            For here she plays her harmless wiles,<br/>
+            And scatters her endearing smiles;<br/>
+            Here no proud rivals intervene,<br/>
+            And all, though glowing, is serene.<br/>
+            Here, since she first her visit paid,<br/>
+            Still has the sweet enchantress staid,<br/>
+            And never met a single slight,<br/>
+            Or spread her snowy plumes for flight.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Contented 'neath the humble roof;<br/>
+            No timid heart is kept aloof;<br/>
+            A kind and condescending guest,<br/>
+            She lightens each despairing breast;<br/>
+            Where pain her poignant venom spreads,<br/>
+            The balm of tenderness she sheds,<br/>
+            Which breathes a calm repose around,<br/>
+            And heals at last the burning wound.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            When the heart throbs with bitter woe,<br/>
+            Her winning mien disarms the foe,<br/>
+            And the kind glances of her eye,<br/>
+            Force the desponding power to fly.<br/>
+            She gives a zest to every joy,<br/>
+            Forbids tranquillity to cloy,<br/>
+            Softens misfortune, chases fear,<br/>
+            And balm distills in every tear.<br/>
+            'Tis she alone can make us know,<br/>
+            A truly blissful hour below,<br/>
+            Can smooth the furrow'd brow of life,<br/>
+            And hush the thundering voice of strife.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            O, may she still exert her power,<br/>
+            Still lead us to the rural bower,<br/>
+            Which vaunting Pride does ne'er disgrace,<br/>
+            Or critic Envy's spiteful face.<br/>
+            Here Raymond ever shall delight,<br/>
+            To sit and watch the closing night;<br/>
+            And open-hearted Gertrude here,<br/>
+            With her sweet infant shall appear.<br/>
+            Here oft her brother shall prepare,<br/>
+            A wreath for Mary's curling hair;<br/>
+            While soft-voic'd Anna, fond of play,<br/>
+            And all the train, alert and gay,<br/>
+            In healthful games shall frolic round,<br/>
+            And revel on the mossy ground.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Here Edmund shall forget his care,<br/>
+            And often fill an elbow chair;<br/>
+            While Sophia, friendly and sincere,<br/>
+            Shall ever find a welcome here.
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            &nbsp;
+          </p>
+          <p>
+            Yet would my hovering fancy trace,<br/>
+            The features of each happy face;<br/>
+            And sympathy informs my mind,<br/>
+            That they the same emotions find;<br/>
+            That in each scene of harmless glee,<br/>
+            Memory recalls the absent three:<br/>
+            And all, though distance strives to part,<br/>
+            Will hold communion in the heart.
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <hr style="width: 25%" />
+    <p class="center">
+      FINIS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &nbsp;
+    </p>
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Elegies and Other Small Poems
+
+Author: Matilda Betham
+
+Release Date: February 20, 2004 [EBook #11193]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS
+
+BY
+
+MATILDA BETHAM.
+
+
+
+_To the Hon. LADY JERNINGHAM_.
+
+_Madam_,
+
+_The many endearing instances of regard I have experienced since I had
+the honor of being known to your Ladyship, while they impress my mind
+with gratitude, flatter my hopes with a favourable reception of the
+following miscellanies, which, under your patronage, I venture to submit
+to the public_.
+
+_Considered as the first essays of an early period of life, and as the
+exercises of leisure, my wishes suggest, that they may not, perhaps, be
+found wholly unworthy of attention; but whatever be their fate with
+others, I shall feel myself much gratified, if, in your Ladyship's
+judgment, they may be allowed some merit_.
+
+_Though there cannot be a greater pleasure than dwelling on the
+excellencies of a distinguished and amiable character, I know not that
+it would be permitted me to indulge my present inclination with
+enumerating those virtues and endowments which confessedly distinguish
+your Ladyship, but my wishes I may offer, and that you may long, very
+long, continue to bless your family, to adorn your rank, and console
+the unhappy, is the sincere prayer of_
+
+_Your Ladyship's most obliged humble servant, MATILDA BETHAM_.
+
+_Stonham, Nov. 20, 1797._
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+
+If, in the following pages, there may be found any unacknowledged
+imitations, I hope I shall not be censured as an intentional plagiarist;
+for it has been my wish, however I may be esteemed presumptuous, not
+to be unjust; and I sometimes fear lest an imperfect recollection of
+another's idea should have appeared to me as a dawning thought of my
+own. Wherever I could recollect a similar passage, although unnoticed
+at the time I wrote, it has been either altered or acknowledged.
+
+I commit these trifles to the press with the anxiety necessarily
+resulting from a desire that they may not be deemed altogether
+worthless. Though the natural partiality of the writer may be somewhat
+strengthened by the commendations of friends and parents, I am well
+aware that no apology can give currency to imperfection.
+
+I have not vainly attempted to ascend to the steeps of Parnassus. If,
+wandering at its foot, I have mistaken perishable shrubs for never-dying
+flowers, the errors of a youthful mind, first viewing the fascinating
+regions of fancy, will not be rigidly condemned; for wherever there
+is true taste, there will be genuine candour.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+  To ----, with Arthur and Albina
+  Arthur and Albina
+  The Fraternal Duel
+  Lines in a Letter to A.R.C.
+  The Lonely Walk
+  The Outlaw
+  Invitation
+  Whitsun-Monday
+  Philemon
+  On a Fan
+  To Simplicity
+  The Terrors of Guilt
+  Cen'lin, Prince of Mercia
+  Rhapsody
+  Human Pleasure or Pain
+  The Complaint of Fancy
+  On the Eve of Departure from O----
+  To M.I.
+  Translation from Metastasio
+  ---------- from Della Casa
+  Editha
+  To M.I.
+  Written in Zimmerman's Solitude
+  To the Memory of Mr. Agostino Isola
+  To the Nuns of Bodney
+  Written in London
+  Fragment
+  Fragment
+  Written April 18, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+To ---- WITH ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+1794.
+
+
+Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey,
+Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray:
+Let Criticism then her distance keep,
+And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep;
+For, let whatever sentence be their due,
+I feel I cannot censure bear from you.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the battle, on a
+hill, where, at its commencement, she had retired to make vows to heaven
+for his success.--Evening_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+
+Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale,
+  And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn;
+And yet I hear net in the silent vale,
+  A sound to tell me Arthur does return.
+
+Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing!
+  Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils!
+Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing,
+  And loud applause repay successful toils!
+
+Reward the flame, ye great celestial pow'rs,
+  The noble flame that in his bosom glows!
+Inspire him, Druids, from your holy bow'rs,
+  With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes![1]
+
+With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm,
+  And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly,
+Make him terrific by some potent charm,
+  And add new lightening to his piercing eye!
+
+Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame,
+  The Roman banners may less proudly flow,
+Then he may humble their detested name,
+  And their high plumes wave o'er' a British brow!
+
+Then may his chariot,[2] wheeling o'er the plain,
+  Hurl death and desolation all around,
+While his intrepid front appals their train,
+  And make our proud invaders bite the ground!
+
+But yet I hear no lively foot advance;
+  No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear!'
+And I may carve this eagle-darting lance
+  For one, whose voice I never more shall hear!
+
+Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies,
+  Nor heav'n, propitious, smil'd upon my pray'r;
+And ah! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise
+  To plunge me in the horrors of despair!
+
+Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield--
+  Alas! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care:
+And, what can valour, when th'extended shield[3]
+  May leave, so oft, his gen'rous bosom bare?
+
+Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain?
+  Can you in vain extend your spotless hands?
+Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain,
+  And save its altars from unhallow'd bands?
+
+Oh yes! I'll fear no more! The sacred groves,[4]
+  That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies;
+Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves,
+  Hidden from weak, unconsecrated eyes:
+
+Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse,
+  Piercing, with uprais'd eyes, each mist that shrouds,
+And, listening, catch the heav'n-dictated verse,
+  By airs etherial wailed from the clouds:
+
+It ne'er can be--but hark! I hear the sound
+  Of some one's step; yet not the youth I love;
+He would have flown, and scarcely touch'd the ground,
+  Not ling'ring thus, with weary caution, move.
+
+The heavy wanderer approaches nigh,
+  But the drear darkness skreens him from my views
+Ah, gracious heav'n! it was my Arthur's sigh,
+  Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew.
+
+Oh speak! inform me what I have to fear!
+  Speak, and relieve my doubting, trembling heart!
+To thy Albina, with a tongue sincere,
+  A portion of thy wretchedness impart!"
+
+"Sweet maid," replied the wounded, dying youth,
+  In accents mournful, tremulous and slow,
+"Yes, I will ever answer thee with truth,
+  While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow.
+
+We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire,
+  The tow'ring, sacrilegious eagle[5] flew;
+Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire,
+  When from the field indignant they withdrew.
+
+But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue,
+  The glowing beauties of that joyful sight;
+Ill can my breast, with keenest torture wrung,
+  Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight.
+
+To others then I leave the envied strain,
+  Which shall for ages rend the British air;
+Nor will thy partial ear expect, in vain,
+  To find the humble name of Arthur there.
+
+I go, while now the victory is warm,
+  The just reward of valour to obtain;
+Soon I return, clad in a nobler form,[6]
+  Again to triumph, and again be slain.
+
+Ah! then, my dear Albina, cease to grieve,
+  Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine;
+For, though my present favour'd form I leave,
+  This constant heart shall still be only thine.
+
+Alas! e'en now I feel the icy hand
+  Of hasty death, press down my swelling heart;
+E'en now I hear a sweet aerial band,
+  Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart.
+
+Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn,
+  Remember that he bravely, nobly died;
+Remember that he quickly will return,
+  And claim again his lov'd, his destin'd bride."
+
+As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled,
+  And parting life streamed forth at every vein,
+His quivering lip, in whispers, softly said,
+  "Remember, Arthur dies to live again!"
+
+"Oh stay, dear youth!" the hapless maiden cries,
+  My best-lov'd Arthur, but one moment stay!
+And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes,
+  So lately lighted at the torch of day.
+
+Ah! yet once more, that look of tender love,
+  Of fond regret, my Arthur, let me view!
+Let one more effort thy affection, prove,
+  And bid me once, once more, a long adieu.
+
+Now, ere the moon withdraws her feeble light,
+  Ope yet again on me thy fading eye!
+He hears not! memory has ta'en her flight,
+  And vanish'd with that last convulsive sigh.
+
+Why did I variegated wreaths prepare,
+  To pay the conqueror every honor due?
+Or, why, with fillets, bind my flowing hair,
+  And tinge my arms of the bright azure hue?[7]
+
+Oh! must this constant bosom beat no more?
+  This skilful hand no more direct the spear?
+Must lost Albina still her fate deplore,
+  And ever drop the unavailing tear?
+
+Must I no more that lovely face review,
+  Expressing each emotion of the mind?
+No more repeat a sweetly sad adieu?
+  No more gay chaplets on his forehead bind?
+
+His forehead, high and fair, with martial grace,
+  And bold, free curls of glossy chesnut crown'd;
+The full, dark eye-brow which adorn'd his face,
+  O'erwhelming foes with terror as he frown'd.
+
+His voice, though strong, harmoniously clear,
+  No more shall fill Albina with delight;
+No more shall sooth her still-attentive ear,
+  And make her fancy every sorrow light.
+
+Farewell to love, to happiness, and joy!
+  Yet will I cull the summer's choicest bloom;
+Funereal chaplets shall my time employ,
+  And wither daily on my Arthur's tomb."
+
+As thus she mourn'd, with bitterest woe opprest,
+  A ray of light illumin'd all the grove,
+And a consoling voice the fair addrest,
+  In the soft accents of parental love.
+
+Though still she clasp'd her hero's valued corse,
+  She slowly rais'd her languid, streaming eyes,
+And own'd astonishment's resistless force,
+  Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize.
+
+The form was clad in robes of purest white,
+  That swept with solemn dignity the ground;
+Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night,
+  Which reign'd in awful majesty around.
+
+The silver beard did reverence demand,[8]
+  And told her that a holy bard was there,
+Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand,
+  Which threw a lustre on the waving hair.
+
+His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth,
+  United with the wisdom of the sage;
+And speaking, with the simple voice of truth,
+  He blended the solemnity of age.
+
+"Arise! thou loveliest of misfortune's train,
+  And cease these weak, desponding tears to shed;
+The soft effusions of thy grief restrain,
+  Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead.
+
+The youth you mourn, far from these scenes of woe,
+  To worlds of never-ending joy is flown;
+Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow,
+  And his fair temples wear a princely crown.
+
+Ah then, presumptuous! question not the skies,
+  Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore;
+Attend to this, and cease your fruitless sighs,
+  You soon shall meet where you can part no more."[9]
+
+Awe-struck, his sacred wisdom she confest,
+  Which pour'd sweet consolation on her mind;
+She cross'd her blood-stain'd hands upon her breast,
+  And bow'd her humble, grateful head, resign'd.
+
+AUGUST 27, 1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 1: Alluding to the armour of the Romani.]
+
+[Footnote 2: The Britons fought in low chariots, which they could leave
+and re-ascend at pleasure.]
+
+[Footnote 3: The shield being their only armour, when held out to
+protect a wounded or dying friend, left them defenceless.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The groves were consecrated to the celebration of religious
+mysteries.]
+
+[Footnote 5: The Roman standard.]
+
+[Footnote 6: The Druids are said to have preached the doctrine of
+transmigration, in order to inspire their warriors with the greater
+contempt of death.]
+
+[Footnote 7: The practice of staining themselves with blue was common
+among the Britons.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The people, excepting the priests, shaved off all the hair
+from their faces, but what grew on the upper lip.]
+
+[Footnote 9: This equivocal manner of speech may be supposed natural
+enough in one of this order of priests, who, it is said, held a more
+refined idea of a future state than they preached to the people.]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
+    That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame;
+  For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
+
+SHENSTONE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE FRATERNAL DUEL.
+
+
+'Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
+  I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
+Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
+  Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
+
+No more may I its sparkling glories view!
+  No more its piercing lustre meet my eye!
+On night's black wings my only comfort flew;
+  At breath of morn I sicken and I die.
+
+Where can I fly? In what sequester'd clime
+  Does darkness ever hold her ebon reign?
+Where woeful dirges measure out the time,
+  And endless echoes breathe the sullen strain.
+
+Where dreary mountains rear their low'ring heads,
+  To pierce the heavy and umbrageous clouds;
+And where the cavern dewy moisture sheds,
+  And night's thick veil the guilty mourner shrouds.
+
+There, lost in horrors, I might vent my sighs;
+  To open misery myself resign;
+Might snatch each torturing vision ere it flies,
+  And feast on prospects desolate as mine.
+
+Oh! let me thither quickly take my flight,
+  And chuse a favourite and a final seat,
+In scenes which would each gentler mind affright,
+  But for my guilt affords a fit retreat.
+
+There, where no ray, no gleam of light could come,
+  There, and there only, could I find relief;
+There might I ruminate on Edward's doom,
+  And lose myself in luxury of grief.
+
+And, as it is, though joys around me shine,
+  Though pleasure here erects her dazzling brow,
+Wrapt in despondence, will I droop and pine,
+  And tears of anguish shall for ever flow.
+
+Oh Edward! could'st thou see this alter'd frame,
+  Which youthful graces lately did adorn!
+Could'st thou behold, and think me still the same,
+  Thy once gay friend, thus hapless and forlorn?
+
+The cheek, so late by ruddy health embrown'd,
+  Now pale and faded with incessant tears;
+The eye, which once elate, disdain'd the ground,
+  Now sunk and languid in its orb appears.
+
+Oh! never, never will I cease to grieve!
+  And sure repentance pardon may obtain!
+Can woe unfeign'd incite heav'n to relieve
+  A wretch opprest with agonizing pain?
+
+Ah no! my hands are stain'd with brother's blood!
+  A father's curses load my sinking head!
+I wish to die, but dare not pass the flood,
+  For there, as well as here, my hopes are fled.
+
+Sleep, which was meant to chase away the thought,
+  To lull the sound of dissonant despair,
+Appears to me with added terrors fraught,
+  And my torn heart can find no refuge there.
+
+If, for a moment, I its fetters wear,
+  And its soft pressure these pale eyes controul,
+I injur'd Emma's just reproaches hear,
+  Or Edward's form appals my shrinking soul.
+
+When in those transitory sleeps I lie,
+  I oft his beauteous, bleeding form review;
+A mild, benignant lustre lights his eye,
+  As come to bid a friend a last adieu.
+
+I start, I shudder at his tuneful voice,
+  When it, in soothing whispers, meets my ear;
+That sound, which oft has made my heart rejoice,
+  I now all-trembling and affrighted hear.
+
+Was it thy fault, dear, much-lamented youth
+  If lovely Emma did thy suit prefer?
+She saw thee form'd of tenderness and truth,
+  And kings might glory to be lov'd by her.
+
+Thy native sweetness won her artless heart;
+  And well our different characters she knew;
+Whilst thy mild looks did happiness impart,
+  She saw the murderer in each glance I threw.
+
+Yet for this, meanly, did I thee upbraid,
+  And basely urg'd an elder brother's right;
+Then, calling impious passion to my aid,
+  Forc'd thee, unwilling, to the fatal fight.
+
+Oh! ne'er shall I forget the dreadful hour,
+  I sheath'd my weapon in thy noble breast;
+Thy dying hand clasp'd mine, with feeble pow'r,
+  And to thy mangled bosom fondly prest.
+
+Whilst o'er thee, I, in speechless anguish hung,
+  Thou saw'st the wild distraction of my eye;
+And, though the chills of death restrain'd thy tongue
+  Thy bosom heav'd a sympathetic sigh.
+
+With cruel tenderness my friends contriv'd,
+  To bear me from the drear, polluted shore;
+Of every joy, of peace itself depriv'd,
+  Which this despairing breast shall know no more.
+
+Since this what frenzy has inspir'd my mind!
+  My tortur'd mem'ry cannot it retrace;
+No relique now of former days I find,
+  But horrors, which e'en madness can't efface.
+
+My dearest brother, and my tenderest friend,
+  O come, and save me from this dark abyss!
+Draw hence the darts which my rack'd bosom rend!
+  And bear me with you to the realms of bliss!
+
+Ah! whence that pang which smote my shuddering heart?
+  Where now, for refuge, can lost Anselm fly?
+'Tis Death! I know him by his crimson dart!
+  And, am I fit? Oh heav'ns! I cannot die!
+
+My spirit is not form'd for rapid flight;
+  It cannot cut the vast expanse of air,
+No, never can it reach the realms of light,
+  For sin, a weight immoveable, lies there!'
+
+Thus wretched Anselm rav'd: unhappy youth!
+  Though passion hurried thee so far astray,
+Thy infant soul ador'd the God of Truth,
+  And virtue usher'd in thy vernal day.
+
+Oh! had he learn'd his passions to restrain,
+  And let cool reason in his breast preside,
+His op'ning wisdom had not bloom'd in vain,
+  Nor had he, ere the prime of manhood, died.
+
+Yet, if remorse could expiate his guilt,
+  If the worst sufferings could the crime erase,
+If tears could wash away the blood he spilt,
+  Then Anselm's penitence obtain'd him grace.
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1794.
+
+
+
+IN A LETTER to A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA.
+
+
+Forgive me, if I wound your ear,
+  By calling of you Nancy,
+Which is the name of my sweet friend,
+  The other's but her fancy.
+
+Ah, dearest girl! how could your mind
+  The strange distinction frame?
+The whimsical, unjust caprice,
+  Which robs you of your name.
+
+_Nancy_ agrees with what we see,
+  A being wild and airy;
+Gay as a nymph of Flora's train,
+  Fantastic as a fairy.
+
+But _Anna's_ of a different kind,
+  A melancholy maid;
+Boasting a sentimental soul,
+  In solemn pomp array'd.
+
+Oh ne'er will I forsake the sound,
+  So artless and so free!
+Be what you will with all mankind.
+  But _Nancy_ still with me.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONELY WALK,
+
+To W.S.B.
+
+
+When the grey evening spreads a calm around,
+  Tell me, has thy bewilder'd fancy sought,
+Retir'd in some sequestered spot of ground,
+  Rest, from the labour of eternal thought?
+
+When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose,
+  The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat,
+In dream-like musing every care we lose,
+  And wind our way with slowly-moving feet.
+
+Oft, to indulge the thought-exploded sig,
+  When, slowly wandering at the close of day,
+Light emanations from th'abstracted eye,
+  With transient beauty in the sun-beams play,
+
+Thy sister seeks the solitary shade.
+  Her mind inhaling the aerial gloom,
+Sees, not-observing, the fair landscape fade,
+  And sullen mist usurping day-light's room.
+
+Not her's the feelings which regret inspires,
+  When sorrows keen have made the spirits low;
+Adversity has damp'd the youthful fires,
+  And all the tears that fall are tears of woe.
+
+Ah no! possessing every social bliss,
+  I cannot, will not at my fate repine;
+Or ask for happiness excelling this,
+  When such a world of treasures now are mine!
+
+And, when the melancholy grove I seek,
+  Scarce can my palpitating heart controul,
+While silent tears are trembling on my cheek,
+  The flood of pleasure swelling in my soul.
+
+But soon my too-elated thoughts are calm,
+  The tumults of the mental chaos cease;
+A soft oblivion the rais'd senses charm,
+  And lull to a reflecting, soothing peace.
+
+Hail, sweet enhancements of the languid mind!
+  Whose calm reposes restless worldlings scorn;
+But from whose aid recruited strength we find,
+  And waken, lively as the bird of morn.
+
+And thou, lov'd boy, in whose congenial breast,
+  I doubt not but those sentiments reside;
+For we, our thoughts, our actions have confest,
+  As much in hearts as persons are allied;
+
+Hail thou, my brother! may thy steps be led
+  By heav'nly wisdom through this world of care,
+And gain the realms for which our Saviour, bled!
+  Nor pain, nor lassitude await us there.
+
+OCTOBER 13, 1794.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The first Percy, who came over with William the Conqueror, married a
+Saxon lady, called Emma de Port, said to have been the daughter of the
+last Saxon Earl of Northumberland, whose possessions had been given to
+him (Lord William de Percy) for his services_.
+
+_I have taken the liberty of supposing this lady to have had a
+brother._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE OUTLAW.
+
+
+Before the fair Aurora spread
+  Her azure mantle o'er the skies,
+While sleep its pleasing influence shed,
+  On grateful mortals weary eyes,
+
+Emerg'd from a surrounding wood,
+  On a bleak mountain's sullen brow,
+A solitary outlaw stood,
+  And view'd, through mist, the world below.
+
+With deep regret his bosom fraught,
+  His arms were wreath'd in sorrow's knot[10];
+Nor seem'd he yet, by patience taught,
+  To bear submissively his lot.
+
+Hidden was each enlivening grace;
+  Deprest by his untimely doom;
+A hectic flush o'erspread his face,
+  Instead of nature's florid bloom.
+
+Untutor'd in the school of grief,
+  His pining spirit spoke in sighs;
+Though almost hopeless of relief,
+  He look'd around with eager eyes;
+
+And fondly bent an anxious ear,
+  To the slow murmuring of the breeze,
+Essaying oft, in vain, to hear
+  A friendly step beneath the trees.
+
+"Delusive wish!" at last he cried,
+  "Why wilt thou fill my aching breast?
+And thus my miseries deride,
+  By telling how I might be blest.
+
+"No kind consolers hither bend,
+  By sympathy to ease my care;
+Here comes no ever-faithful friend,
+  Who yet might shield me from despair.
+
+"The abbey's well-known tow'r I seek,
+  It fades from my impassion'd eye;
+The fancied outlines softly break,
+  And melt into the distant sky.
+
+"No pitying object now remains,
+  That I may know those scenes are near,
+Where generous love and friendship reigns,
+  And Alwin's name may claim a tear.
+
+"And you, my lov'd paternal groves,
+  Where I no more must shew my head;
+In your fair walks a stranger roves,
+  And treacherous Normans daily tread!
+
+"E'en now their presence may prophane
+  The halls where Herbert did reside!
+E'en now may joy and gladness reign,
+  And Adelaide be Percy's bride.
+
+"Yet no! her soul, the seat of truth,
+  Would ne'er a second love receive!
+The sacred vows of artless youth,
+  Her Alwin ever shall believe!
+
+"They still shall comfort my sad heart,
+  And sooth the anguish of my mind;
+Shall still a cheering hope impart,
+  And make me somewhat more resign'd.
+
+"Ah! yet I hear her trembling hand,
+  Withdraw the bolt to set me free!
+Yet hear the hasty, kind command,
+  My Alwin fly, and live for me!
+
+"No other can obtain my love!
+  I would for thee the world resign!
+Then let thy prompt obedience prove
+  That thou art truly, wholly mine."
+
+"And ever to her promise true,
+  No pleasure shall her soul elate,
+For, yet her constant thoughts pursue
+  A wretched Outlaw's hapless fate!
+
+"In vain proud Ranulph[11] shall upbraid,
+  My Adelaide is still the same!
+And, for thy sake, dear, lovely maid,
+  I will not curse the Norman name!
+
+"Not, though my father's large domains,
+  Are plunder'd by the murderous bands;
+And my Northumbria's fertile plains,
+  Lie wasted by their cruel hands;
+
+"Though, as a son, I mourn the fate
+  Of those, to whom my life I owe;
+And hate the hearts that thus create
+  The dimness of severest woe;
+
+"Though I behold no friendly steel,
+  To give my Emma vengeance, drawn;
+And though a brother's pangs I feel,
+  To know her destitute, forlorn;
+
+"Though, banish'd from the sight of day,
+  In dreary solitude I pine;
+And, forc'd to feel a tyrant's sway,
+  Each dear paternal right resign;
+
+"Yet will I seal my lips; nor dare
+  To extricate my haughty foes:
+The hateful, guilty root I spare,
+  Which can produce so fair a rose.
+
+"But thou, my heart, wilt thou be calm?
+  Oh! tell me, can reflection cease;
+And this fond bosom, now so warm,
+  Be ever tranquilliz'd to peace!
+
+"Ah, no! a father's scornful eye
+  Is ever present to my view;
+And tells me, Herbert dar'd to die,
+  Though Normans could his son subdue.
+
+"Each feeble plea his soul disdains,
+  They cannot for the fault atone;
+Though, when I left Northumbria's plains,
+  I had not fifteen summers known.
+
+"And hear me, Herbert, when I swear
+  It was not fear that urg'd my flight;
+A worthless life was not my care,
+  I thought but of a parent's right.
+
+"Then pardon that my youth comply'd,
+  To ease a mother's anxious fears
+That, when I rather would have died,
+  I yielded to a sister's tears.
+
+"Alas! a peasant's humble shed,
+  Soon saw our sainted parents' death,
+Who, while our hearts in anguish bled,
+  With pious hopes resign'd her breath.
+
+"When mists foretel the ev'ning near,
+  And clouds of chilling dew arise,
+We sought the grave of her so dear,
+  And offer'd there our tears and sighs.
+
+"'Till mild reflection lent her aid,
+  And bade our filial sorrows cease;
+The fever of our souls allay'd,
+  We sunk into a mournful peace.
+
+"My pensive bosom strove to keep
+  A dying mother's last request;
+I let the thoughts of vengeance sleep,
+  And studied to make Emma blest.
+
+"No longer shunning of the dawn,
+  Or seeking the sequester'd shade,
+I call'd my sister to the lawn,
+  And trod with her the flow'ry glade.
+
+"Submitting to our wayward fate,
+  I talk'd not of the treasures flown;
+But still seem'd easy and sedate,
+  While pressing verdure not my own.
+
+"Then all I wish'd, and all I fear'd,
+  Was by fraternal love inspir'd;
+And one, by every tie endear'd,
+  The only friend my soul desir'd.
+
+"Yet soon that pleasing calmness fled,
+  A Norman beauty won my heart,
+Imperious love my footsteps led,
+  And bade all secrecy depart.
+
+"I own'd the splendour of my race,
+  Altho' a peasant's form I bore;
+I fancied silence was disgrace,
+  And hid my sentiments no more.
+
+"Her father's tongue my fate decreed,
+  And doom'd great Herbert's son to shame;
+For, tho' by love from prison freed,
+  I bear an outlaw's hateful name.
+
+"My sister no fond friend can shield,
+  No relative allay her grief;
+For tyranny all hearts hath steel'd,
+  And nought can give her soul relief.
+
+"With ev'ry quality to charm,
+  A guardian will not heaven allow,
+To screen thy artless youth from harm,
+  And, fair deserted! help thee now!
+
+"No aid, no comfort, can be nigh!
+  And shall thy brother here remain?
+Has he not fortitude to fly,
+  And burst the heavy, servile chain?
+
+"Why should I linger here alone,
+  Unseen by every human eye?
+To live unfriended and unknown,
+  And in this dreary desart die.
+
+"For now the sun-beams gild the sky,
+  And give the misty morning grace,
+Far from the light I'm doom'd to fly,
+  Abandon'd by the human race.
+
+"But no! I'll bear suspense no more!
+  Too dear a price to purchase breath;
+I'll seek the scenes I yet deplore,
+  And meet a welcome, wish'd-for, death."
+
+Tortur'd to frenzy, Alwin flew,
+  And as he left his sad retreat,
+He, turning, look'd a last adieu,
+  And shook the dew-drops from his feet.
+
+His hurried steps nor press'd the ground,
+  Nor pointed out the path he came;
+And, though so long the way he found,
+  Despair buoy'd up his fainting frame.
+
+The sun shot forth a feeble ray,
+  But hid his glorious orb from sight,
+And the pale evening's modest grey,
+  Had soften'd the too-glaring light,
+
+When Alwin reach'd the humble cot,
+  That once he did with Emma share,
+And, weeping, hail'd the well-known spot,
+  In vain, for Emma was not there.
+
+Repuls'd, he turn'd his languid eye,
+  Where Ranulph's lofty turrets rose;
+And, heaving disappointment's sigh,
+  He sought the mansion of his foes.
+
+His faltering step, when there he came,
+  A proud, disdainful air possest;
+Memory recall'd his former shame,
+  And indignation fill'd his breast.
+
+He enter'd, in his wild attire,
+  With hasty pace and haggard brow,
+Scorn fill'd his azure eye with fire,
+  And gave his cheeks a deeper glow.
+
+A graceful knight who met his view,
+  Sat pleading by a lady's side;
+And Alwin's jealous bosom knew
+  Lord Percy, and his fated bride.
+
+Mistaken youth! thy eyes have seen,
+  The persons pictur'd in thy mind;
+But who is that, with pensive mien,
+  And forehead on her hand reclin'd?
+
+O'er whom Lord Ranulph fondly bends,
+  With sorrow seated on his brow;
+While the regretting tear descends
+  O'er his pale cheek, in silent woe.
+
+"Ah! is it thus?" sad Alwin said,
+  The fancied bride the accents knew,
+Lord Percy rais'd his drooping head,
+  And lovely Emma met his view.
+
+Then rapture and surprize prevail'd,
+  Each bosom felt confus'd delight;
+While his return the mourner hail'd,
+  And thus his sorrows did requite.
+
+"O, dearest Alwin, now no more
+  My father disapproves our flame;
+No longer we thy loss deplore,
+  Or tremble to pronounce thy name.
+
+"A noble friend has gain'd our cause,
+  And vanquish'd all his former hate;
+Who, ere he own'd a lover's laws,
+  With generous tears had wept thy fate."
+
+"Yes, injur'd youth," Lord Ranulph cried,
+  "Thou art this day my chosen heir;
+In Adelaide behold thy bride,
+  Thy sister's future husband, there.
+
+"Lord Percy, to a candid mind,
+  Unites a fervour like thy own;
+And Emma, not to merit blind,
+  Refers his cause to thee alone.
+
+"If thou wilt grant his fond desire,
+  'Twill gain a brave, a noble friend;
+And the possessions of thy sire,
+  To his posterity descend."
+
+"And did my Emma stay to hear,
+  Her brother sanctify her choice?
+Ah Percy! now you need not fear
+  From Alwin, a dissenting voice.
+
+"Blest in my love, in Emma blest,
+  My heart each cherish'd wish obtains;
+Northumbrians, now no more opprest,
+  Shall own a son of Herbert reigns.
+
+"May ye rebuild the peasant's cot,
+  Exalt the woe-depressed head,
+And o'er each desolated spot,
+  The fostering calm of quiet spread!
+
+"May sterne reserve and caution cease!
+  With lenient hand dispense your sway;
+Give them the healing balm of peace,
+  Their wounded spirits will obey.
+
+"Ah! cheer their gloom! dispel their care!
+  The smile will soon replace the tear;
+And, wedded to a Saxon fair,
+  The foreign lord no more appear."
+
+1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 10: "Wreathing his arms in this sad knot."--SHAKESPERE'S
+TEMPEST.]
+
+[Footnote 11: Lord of Cumberland.]
+
+
+
+
+INVITATION,
+
+To J.B.C.
+
+
+Now spring appears, with beauty crown'd,
+And all is light and life around,
+Why comes not Jane? When friendship calls,
+Why leaves she not Augusta's walls?
+Where cooling zephyrs faintly blow,
+Nor spread the cheering, healthful glow.
+That glides through each awaken'd vein,
+As skimming o'er the spacious plain,
+We look around with joyous eye,
+And view no boundaries but the sky.
+
+Already April's reign is o'er,
+Her evening tints delight no more;
+No more the violet scents the gale,
+No more the mist o'erspreads the vale;
+The lovely queen of smiles and tears,
+Who gave thee birth, no more appears;
+But blushing May, with brow serene,
+And vestments of a livelier green,
+Commands the winged choir to sing,
+And with wild notes the meadows ring.
+
+O come! ere all the train is gone,
+No more to hail thy twenty-one;
+That age which higher honor shares,
+And well becomes the wreath it wears.
+From lassitude and cities flee,
+And breathe the air of heav'n, with me.
+
+
+MAY 5, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN ON
+
+WHITSUN-MONDAY,
+
+1795.
+
+
+At an open window sitting,
+  On this day of mirth and glee,
+'Cross a flow'ry vista flitting,
+  Many passing forms I see.
+Ah! lovely prospect, stay awhile!
+  And longer glad my doating eye,
+With poverty's delighted smile,
+  And lighten'd step, as passing by;
+
+With labour's spruce and ruddy train,
+  Deck'd out in all their best array,
+Who, months of toil and care disdain,
+  Paid by the pleasures of a day.
+The village girl still let me view,
+  Hast'ning to the neighb'ring fair;
+Her cap adorn'd with pink or blue,
+  And nicely smooth her glossy hair.
+
+With sparkling eye and smiling face,
+  Ting'd o'er with beauty's warmest glow;
+With timid air, and Rumble grace,
+  With clear and undepressed brow.
+Go! lovely girl, and share the day,
+  To thy industrious merit due;
+There join the dance, or choral lay;
+  Thou blooming, village rose, adieu!
+
+And thou, O youth, so blythe and free,
+  Bounding swiftly o'er the plain,
+Go, taste the joys of liberty,
+  And cheer thy spirit, happy swain!
+How different to the lonely hour,
+  When slowly following the plough,
+Self-buoyant joy forgets the pow'r,
+  Which warms thy gladden'd bosom now.
+
+If some rural prize desiring,
+  Or ambitious of applause,
+Loud huzzas thy wishes firing,
+  Thy steady hand the furrow draws;
+Ne'er a victor fam'd in story,
+  Greater praise and reverence drew,
+Than thou, attir'd in humble glory,
+  So, guiltless conqueror, adieu!
+
+Oh, here a charming group appears!
+  A cottage family, so gay,
+Whose youthful hopes, uncheck'd by fears,
+  In smiles of thoughtless rapture play.
+Here, borne in fond, parental arms,
+  The infant's roving eye we view;
+Boasting a thousand, thousand charms,
+  Endearing innocents, adieu!
+
+They go! no more with beating heart,
+  And lively, dancing step to tread;
+Unwillingly will they depart,
+  To seek again their homely shed.
+Ah! Eve, I love thy veil of grey,
+  Which will conceal them from my view,
+For, bending home their weary way,
+  How sad would be our last adieu!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The following was suggested by reading a whimsical description, given
+by Scarron, of the deformity of his person, contrasted with its former
+elegance, in the Curiosities of Literature, vol. 2, page 247_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PHILEMON.
+
+
+Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace,
+  Which can delight the eye, or please the ear,
+Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face,
+  Awhile the councils of Philemon hear!
+
+Let not pride lift the thoughtless head too high,
+  Temerity arch o'er the scornful brow,
+Contemptuous glances arm the sparkling eye,
+  Or the high heart with self-complacence glow!
+
+Alas! full soon the eve of life arrives,
+  Though pale Disease's train approach not nigh;
+Short is the summer of the happiest lives,
+  If no rude storm disturbs the smiling sky.
+
+This wretched body, bending to the earth,
+  Once, on the wings of health, alert and gay,
+Shone forth the foremost in the train of mirth,
+  And cloudless skies announc'd a beauteous day.
+
+My parents oft, with fond complacence view'd,
+  The elegance of my external form;
+And thought my mind with excellence endued,
+  Bright as my genius, as my fancy warm.
+
+There was a time, poor as I now appear,
+  I admiration met in every look;
+And, harsh as now my words may grate your ear,
+  Each tongue was silent when Philemon spoke.
+
+Once could this voice make every bosom thrill,
+  As it pour'd forth the light or plaintive lay;
+And once these fingers, with superior skill,
+  Upon the lute could eloquently play.
+
+By partial friendship sooth'd, by flattery fann'd,
+  I learnt with conscious grace the dance to lead,
+To guide the Phaeton with careless hand,
+  And rule, with flowing rein, the prancing steed.
+
+Sick with the glory of a trifler's fame,
+  By folly nurtur'd, I was proud and vain;
+Till Chastisement in kindest mercy came,
+  Though then her just decrees I dar'd arraign.
+
+The form that sought so late the public view,
+  That glow'd with transport, as the world admir'd,
+Fill'd with false shame, from every eye withdrew,
+  And to the shades of solitude retir'd.
+
+Consum'd by fevers, spiritless, forlorn,
+  Blasted by apoplexy's dreadful rage,
+My bleeding heart by keen remembrance torn,
+  I past my prime in premature old age.
+
+I heard my parent's ill-suppressed sighs,
+  And wish'd myself upon the peaceful bier;
+I saw the anguish of their sleepless eyes,
+  The smile dissembled, and the secret tear.
+
+Oft, with a kind of gratifying woe,
+  I recollected every former charm,
+And, with the spleen of a malicious foe,
+  Delighted still to keep my sorrows warm.
+
+"Where is the lustre of the gladsome eye,
+  The airy smile, the animated mien,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+  So lately envied, now no longer seen.
+
+"I too have gloried in my waving hair,
+  No ringlets now remain to raise my pride;
+Nor can I now lay the white forehead bare,
+  And push the too luxuriant locks aside."
+
+Thus, like a child, I sigh'd for pleasures past,
+  And lost my hours in a delusive dream;
+But Reason op'd my blinded eyes at last,
+  And clear'd each mist by her refulgent beam.
+
+I saw futurity before me spread,
+  A scourge or sceptre offer'd to my view,
+Alarm'd, from Folly's erring mazes fled,
+  And to my God with humble rev'rence drew.
+
+I bow'd, submissive, at the holy shrine,
+  His mercy with warm gratitude confest,
+Which had reveal'd the spark of life divine,
+  That slumber'd in my earth-enamoured breast.
+
+Had I, as friendship and self-love desir'd,
+  Still suck'd delirium at the fane of praise,
+I might, my conscience lull'd and passions fir'd,
+  Have lost my soul in the bewitching blaze.
+
+Dear rising train, let not my words offend!
+  Nor the pure dictates of my love despise;
+To one, late like yourselves, attention lend,
+  And, taught by his experience, be wise!
+
+Ah! banish from your eye the fiend Disdain;
+  Let fair simplicity supply its place;
+Nor longer let conceit the bosom stain;
+  The child of weakness, follow'd by disgrace.
+
+Should time from you each glowing beauty wrest,
+  You will not then those self-reproaches feel,
+Which every eye awaken'd in my breast,
+  And twenty winters scarce suffic'd to heel.
+
+Nor will your friends observe each faded charm,
+  Since still your countenance its smile retains,
+And the same lov'd companion, kind and warm,
+  With unassuming manners, yet remains.
+
+
+SEPT. 8, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+ON A FAN.
+
+
+Now I've painted these flowers, say what can I do,
+To render them worthy acceptance from you?
+I know of no sybil, whose wonderful art
+Could to them superior virtues impart,
+Who, of magical influence wonders could tell,
+And, who over each blossom could mutter a spell.
+
+You only the humbler enchantments can prove,
+That arise from esteem, from respect, and from love;
+With such I assail you, and pow'rful the charm,
+When applied to a heart sympathetic and warm;
+To a heart such as that, which, if right I divine,
+O C--ll--n--n! dwells in that bosom of thine.
+
+NOV. 10, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+TO SIMPLICITY.
+
+
+Fair village nymph, ah! may I meet
+  Thy pleasing form where'er I stray!
+With open air and converse sweet,
+  Still cheer my undiscover'd way!
+
+With eyes, that shew the placid mind,
+  And with no feign'd emotions roll;
+With mien, that sprightly or resign'd,
+  Bespeaks the temper of the soul.
+
+With smiles, where not the lips alone
+  Receive a brighter, vermil hue,
+The cheek does warmer roses own,
+  And the eyes beam, a deeper blue!
+
+Though Fashion's minions scorn thy pow'r,
+  And slight thee, 'cause in russet drest,
+Yet Joy frequents thy peaceful bow'r,
+  And sorrow flies to thee for rest.
+
+The echoing laugh, the rapturous tear,
+  The smile of friendship, gay and free,
+Delight but when they are sincere,
+  And given, lovely nymph, by thee.
+
+When my Rosina reads a tale,
+  Though sweet the tuneful accents flow,
+No studied pathos does prevail
+  To bid the hearer's bosom glow;
+
+Her voice to sympathy resign'd,
+  Each different feeling can impart.
+And, tell me not, we e'er can find
+  A modulator, like the heart!
+
+And Mary's locks of glossy brown,
+  That fall in waves, with graceful swell,
+In ever-varying ringlets thrown,
+  The fairest curls of art excel.
+
+Still rob'd in innocence and ease,
+  Daughter of Truth, shall thou prevail,
+When Affectation cannot please,
+  And all the spells of Fashion fail.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+THE TERRORS OF GUILT.
+
+
+Yon coward, with the streaming hair,
+And visage, madden'd to despair,
+With step convuls'd, unsettled eye,
+And bosom lab'ring with a sigh,
+Is _Guilt!_--Behold, he hears the name,
+And starts with horror, fear, and shame!
+
+See! slow Suspicion by his side,
+  With winking, microscopic eye!
+And Mystery, his muffled guide,
+  With fearful speech, and head awry.
+
+See! scowling Malice there attend,
+Bold Falsehood, an apparent friend;
+Avarice, repining o'er his pelf,
+Mean Cunning, lover of himself;
+Hatred, the son of conscious Fear,
+Impatient Envy, with a fiend-like sneer,
+And shades of blasted Hopes, which still are hovering near!
+
+All other woes will find relief,
+And time alleviate every grief;
+Memory, though slowly, will decay,
+And Sorrow's empire pass away.
+Awhile Misfortune may controul,
+And Fain oppress the virtuous soul,
+Yet Innocence can still beguile
+The patient sufferer of a smile,
+The beams of Hope may still dispense
+A grateful feeling to the sense;
+Friendship may cast her arms around,
+And with fond tears embalm the wound,
+Or Piety's soft incense rise,
+And waft reflection to the skies;
+But those fell pangs which he endures,
+Nor Time forgets, nor Kindness cures;
+Like Ocean's waves, they still return,
+Like Etna's fires, forever burn.
+
+Hound him no genial zephyrs fly,
+No fair horizon glads his eye,
+No joys to him does Nature yield,
+The solemn grove, or laughing field;
+Though both with loud rejoicings ring,
+No pleasure does the echo bring,
+Not bubbling waters as they roll,
+Can tranquillize his bursting soul,
+For Conscience still, with tingling smart,
+Asserts his empire o'er his heart,
+And even when his eye-lids close,
+With clamourous scream affrights repose.
+
+Oppress'd with light, he seeks to shun
+The splendid glories of the sun;
+The busy crowds that hover near,
+Torment his eye, distract his ear;
+He hastens to the secret shades,
+Where not a ray the gloom pervades;
+Where Contemplation may retreat,
+And Silence take his mossy seat;
+Yet even there no peace he knows,
+His fev'rish blood, no calmer flows;
+Some hid assassins 'vengeful knife,
+Is rais'd to end his wretched life.
+He shudders, starts, and stares around,
+With breathless fright, to catch the fancied sound;
+Seeks for the dagger in his breast,
+And gripes it 'neath his ruffled vest.
+
+Lo! now he plunges in the flood,
+To cleanse his garments, stain'd with blood,
+His sanguine arm, in terror, laves;
+But ah! its hue defies the waves.
+Deprest, bewildered, thence he flies,
+And, to avoid Detection, tries,
+Who, frowning, still before him stands,
+The sword of Justice in her hands;
+Abhorrent Scorn, unpitying Shame,
+And Punishments without a name,
+Still on her sounding steps attend,
+And every added horror lend.
+He turns away, with dread and fear,
+But the fell spectres still are near.
+Though Falsehood's mazes see him wind!
+Yet Infamy is close behind,
+Lifting her horn, with horrors fraught,
+Whose hideous yell is frenzy to the thought.
+
+Now, maniac-like, he comes again,
+And mixes with the jocund train;
+But still those eyes that wildly roll,
+Bespeak the tempest in his soul.
+In yon deep cave he strives to rest,
+But Mem'ry harrows up his breast;
+He clasps the goblet, foe to Care,
+And lo! Distraction hovers there.
+
+Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to know,
+The sad varieties of woe;
+Where'er thy footsteps turn, to meet,
+An earthquake yawning at thy feet,
+While o'er thy head pale meteors glare,
+And boding tempests fill the air,
+In throbbing anguish doom'd to roam,
+Yet never find a peaceful home.
+Haste! to the shrine of Mercy hie,
+There lift the penitential eye,
+With breaking heart thy sins deplore,
+And wound Integrity no more!
+Repentance then thy soul shall save,
+And snatch thee, ransom'd, from the grave.
+
+JULY 1796.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The death of Selred, last King of the East-Saxons, reduced that part
+of the Heptarchy to dependance on Mercia. The rest is imaginary_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CEN'LIN, PRINCE OF MERCIA.
+
+
+When Britain many chiefs obey'd,
+And seven Saxon princes sway'd,
+The Mercian monarch, fam'd afar,
+In peace respected, fear'd in war,
+Favour'd by heav'n above the rest,
+In his brave son was fully blest;
+For none like Cen'lin did arise,
+So virtuous, elegant, and wise.
+
+Of partial Mercian eyes the joy,
+His parents idoliz'd the boy;
+Saw with just pride each op'ning grace,
+His charms of mind, of form, and face.
+And as he oft, with modest air,
+His thoughts and feelings did declare,
+His father would delighted hear,
+Would fondly drop the grateful tear;
+And proudly cast his eyes around,
+But not an equal could be found.
+Warm from each lip applauses broke,
+And every tongue his praises spoke;
+The list'ning courtiers spread his fame,
+And blessings follow'd Cen'lins name.
+
+Now twenty summer's suns had flown,
+And Mercia's hopes were fully blown;
+When ah! conceal'd in coarse disguise,
+To Selred's[12] court their darling flies.
+Selred, his father's scorn and hate,
+Became the ruler of his fate.
+There flatter'd, lov'd, the youth remain'd,
+Till Cenulph's threats his heir regain'd.
+But ah! no more the son of mirth,
+His pensive eye now sought the earth;
+No more within the dance to move,
+Or list to sages, did he love;
+But from surrounding friends would fly,
+To pour in solitude the sigh.
+And soon again the youth withdrew,
+Again to th' Eastern-Saxons flew.
+His father heard, opprest with woe,
+His aged heart forgot to glow;
+He learnt his foes an army led,
+With youthful Cen'lin at their head,
+He call'd his warriors forth to meet,
+And stretch the rebel at hit feet:
+Tears from his eyes in anguish broke,
+As thus the aged monarch spoke:
+
+"Ye Mercians, let your banners fly!
+The graceless youth this day shall die!
+For, since he dares an army bring
+Against his father and his king,
+Though dear as life, I will not spare,
+Nor listen to affection's pray'r!
+If all my people should implore,
+I'll pardon the rash boy no more!
+His harden'd heart, to duty blind,
+No ties of gratitude can bind;
+This hoary head would else have rest,
+And pleasure warm this aching breast.
+Ah, cruel youth! thy wrongs I feel,
+More deep than wounds of pointed steel.
+For, if forlorn the parent's doom,
+Who bears his offspring to the tomb,
+Some comfort still his breast may know,
+Some soothing thought may calm his woe,
+And when he gives a loose to pain,
+He feels not that he mourns in vain,
+But fancies still his darling nigh,
+And grateful for each bursting sigh,
+Still bending o'er, with list'ning ear,
+Each weeping, fond complaint to hear,
+The dear-lov'd phantom hovers round,
+And pours a balm in every wound.
+
+"How doubly poignant is my smart,
+Bereaved of my Cen'lin's heart!
+Exil'd from that deluded breast,
+Where I had fondly hop'd to rest,
+With faith undoubting, sweet repose,
+Till Death should bid my eye-lids close.
+And sometimes yet will hope arise;
+Till now he ever scorn'd disguise;
+Some cursed fiend might taint his youth,
+And warp a temper form'd for truth.
+When late he humbly knelt for grace,
+And clasp'd my knees in close embrace,
+Upon his lips a secret hung,
+But something seem'd to stay his tongue;
+I prest not, for my anger slept,
+And fondness only saw he wept;
+Ah! fatal haste! then had I known
+The serpent, I had sav'd my son!
+Yet surely pardon frank as mine,
+A noble heart would more confine!
+When leaguing with my bitter foe,
+To strike some grand, decisive blow;
+Perhaps to rob me of my throne,
+And make it, ere the time, his own;
+Or, should wan guilt a danger dread,
+To humble this devoted head,
+Each throbbing pang of conscience drown,
+And seize, with bloody hands, the crown.
+O'er this offence I cast a veil,
+And fondly hush'd the whisper'd tale.
+Ah fool! deluded by the grace,
+Of that fine form, and perfect face;
+I thought his bosom free from sin,
+Nor dreamt a demon lurk'd within.
+His voice, which ever could controul,
+Each passion of the hearer's soul,
+With ease my partial heart beguil'd,
+Who knew no sorrows when he smil'd.
+And ah! my friends, your downcast eyes,
+Your pensive air, and smother'd sighs,
+All tell me you lament the fate,
+Of him, whom yet you cannot hate.
+And shall I bear then to behold,
+That form inanimate and cold,
+His smiling lips depriv'd of breath,
+His eyes for ever clos'd in death!
+Ah no! my heart with anguish swells,
+And every throbbing vein rebels.
+Let sorrow weep, or anger thrill,
+Yet all the parent triumphs still.
+
+"Oh Father! who in mercy reigns,
+If thy all-ruling will ordains,
+That my unhappy Cen'lin dies,
+Remove the picture from my eyes!
+At the same moment set us free,
+Both rebel sons, my God, to thee!"
+Thus did the king pour forth his pray'r,
+With all the wildness of despair;
+Then, stilling every rising sigh,
+He calm'd the anguish of his eye,
+And though within the burthen lay,
+He wip'd the falling tears away.
+
+When lo! there comes a youthful train,
+Descending swiftly to the plain,
+Drest like the fairest sons of day,
+In floating robes and colours gay;
+No crested helmets there appear,
+No glittering shield or pointed spear,
+But youths with honey-suckles crown'd,
+Or their fair locks with fillets bound,
+Whose circling ranks and varied dyes,
+Shew'd like the bow, that gilds the skies.
+Whilst in the van a pair were seen,
+Of peerless charms and graceful mien;
+One lovely form the Mercians knew,
+And gladden'd at the pleasing view,
+Who, with the glow of youthful prime,
+Had all the majesty of time.
+And beauteous was the fair he led,
+As any fabled Grecian maid;
+The nymphs who tend Aurora's car,
+And usher in the morning star,
+Though made inhabitants of air,
+Were not more elegant and fair;
+Nor Dian's ever-healthful train,
+When skimming o'er the spacious plain.
+Had not more pure, more lively dyes,
+Or brighter lustre in their eyes.
+
+The king, so late by woe deprest,
+Felt hope reanimate his breast,
+And as his Cen'lin nearer drew,
+His waking hopes more vivid grew.
+"My friends," he cried, "will you believe,
+That open mien can e'er deceive?
+That blooming, form can e'er unfold,
+A heart ungenerous and cold,
+That melting softness of the eye,
+Can harbour direst cruelty?
+Ah no! a poison's baleful pow'r,
+Lurks not beneath so fair a flow'r.
+Nor are those youths with amber hair,
+Such as fell treason would prepare,
+An aged monarch to dethrone,
+And hear, unmov'd, a father's groan.
+Gay are their looks, no dark disguise,
+Dims the mild radiance of their eyes;
+No murderous thoughts their souls employ,
+But, heralds of transporting joy,
+They come to bid suspicion cease,
+And sooth my sorrow into peace."
+Caution could scarce awhile controul
+The strong delights of Cenulph's soul,
+When Cen'lin knelt, and by his side
+Half-kneeling, bent his lovely bride.
+But, when he first essay'd to speak,
+A hasty blush pass'd o'er his cheek,
+He hung awhile his graceful head,
+Till thus, with air confus'd he said:
+"I come, by love with honours crown'd,
+Yet sorrow casts a shade around,
+That when my consort here I bring,
+The heiress of a potent king,
+The Mercians, clad in armour, come,
+To lead their princess to her home.
+No joyful hail our nuptial greets,
+No proof of love my Ela meets,
+But scarlet banners, waving high,
+The bridal knot and wreath supply.
+Alas! I see mistrust has won
+E'en Cenulph's fondness from his son;
+Or could my ever-honour'd sire,
+A proof of Cen'lin's faith require?
+Can force so needful now appear,
+To aid a pow'r which I revere?
+When eager beauty's form to view,
+I first to Selred's court withdrew,
+A single wish thy pow'r maintain'd,
+A single wish thy son regain'd.
+I left the maid whose matchless charms,
+Each rooted prejudice disarms,
+Who rul'd my heart with sovereign sway,
+And taught a Mercian to obey
+Laws that East-Saxons can impart,
+When wit and beauty string the dart;
+Left her when hope my doubts beguil'd,
+And on our love her father smil'd.
+Oft have I tried to win thine ear,
+The fond, romantic tale to hear,
+But when I found a lonely hour,
+My coward soul has lost the pow'r;
+As on my lips the accents hung,
+Thy hate to Selred check'd my tongue.
+Yet flattering hopes my passion fed,
+And from thy court again I fled;
+I thought when you my fair beheld,
+And knew how greatly she excell'd,
+In every charm, each art refin'd,
+And virtue of the female mind,
+Thy judgment would approve my choice,
+And bless it with a cheerful voice.
+And ah! though fortune did combine
+With love, in making Ela mine,
+I cannot from a grief refrain,
+Remembering that I gave thee pain.
+Yet if thy Cen'lin e'er could please,
+If e'er my cares could give thee ease,
+Let mild affection now arise,
+And beam forgiveness from thine eyes!
+No more thy son shall make thee know
+A pain, or give thee cause of woe.
+No nights the Mercians have to fear,
+For all I love is center'd here,"
+He spoke, and o'er his father's soul,
+A stream of healing comfort stole;
+He rose, with slow, majestic grace,
+Tears of delight adorn'd his face,
+His pious heart with rapture glow'd,
+And joy a second youth bestow'd.
+
+"To meet thee thus, my son," he cried,
+"This peerless maiden for your bride,
+Bids each distressing thought depart,
+And joy again possess my heart.
+Fair princess, thine the happy fate,
+To heal the wounds of mutual hate;
+No longer shall this bosom know,
+An Eastern-Saxon as my foe;
+And she, who bids that passion rest,
+Doubt not, shall be supremely blest;
+The part is holy and benign,
+Befitting such a form as thine.
+This day, far dearer than before,
+Kind heav'n does twice my son restore,
+For by those speaking looks I see,
+Another valued child in thee."
+
+As then he raised them to his breast,
+Around the joyful Mercians prest,
+And made their shouts of triumph rise,
+To the fair concave of the skies.
+
+OCTOBER 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 12: King of the East-Saxons.]
+
+
+
+
+RHAPSODY.
+
+
+Lo! here a cloud comes sailing, richly clad
+In royal purple, which the parting beams
+Of bounteous Phoebus edge with tints of gold
+And lucid crimson. One might fancy it
+A noble bird, that laves its graceful form,
+And bathes its rosy bosom in the light.
+Look! how it swells and rears its snowy crest
+With haughty grandeur; while the blue expanse,
+In smiling patience lets the boaster pass,
+And swell his train with all the lazy vapours
+That hover in the air: an easy prey
+To the gigantic phantom, whose curl'd wing,
+Sweeps in these worthless triflers of the sky,
+And wraps them in his bosom. Go, vain shadow!
+Sick with the burthen of thy fancied greatness,
+A breath of zephyr wafts thee into nothing,
+Scatters thy spreading plumes, uncrowns thy front,
+And drives thee downward to thy mother earth,
+To mix with vapour and dissolve in dew.
+
+Such are the dreams of hope, which to the eye
+Of youthful inexperience, seem to touch
+The pure, unclouded sky of certainty.
+Buoy'd up by the fond eloquence of thought,
+And nurtur'd by the smile of vanity,
+Each hour the air-born vision gathers bulk,
+And Fancy decks it with a thousand hues,
+Varied and wild, till it abounds in charms
+Which sink the soul to sadness, when the breath
+Of gentle Reason breaks the beauteous bubble,
+And leaves us nought but vain regret behind.
+
+
+FEBRUARY 1, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN.
+
+
+When clouds and rain deform the sky,
+  And light'nings glare around,
+Amidst the dreary, cheerless scene,
+  Some comfort may be found.
+
+There will, at some far-distant spot,
+  A streak of light appear,
+Or, when the sullen vapours break,
+  The ether will be clear.
+
+And if the sun illumes the east,
+  And sheds his gladsome ray,
+Some boding mist, or passing cloud
+  Will threat the rising day.
+
+The heart rejoicing in the view,
+  And dancing with delight,
+Oft feels the touch of palsied fear,
+  And sinks at thought of night.
+
+So Hope's bright torch more clearly shines,
+  Amidst surrounding gloom,
+And, beldame Fortune vainly throws
+  Her mantle o'er the tomb.
+
+
+MARCH 15,1797.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPLAINT OF FANCY.
+
+To A.R.C.
+
+
+As, musing, late I sat reclin'd,
+And waking dreams absorb'd my mind,
+A damsel came, of various dyes,
+Like painted Iris from the skies;
+A purfled saffron was her vest,
+And sweet gum-cistus form'd her crest;
+In many a playful ring, her hair
+Flew light and flossy in the air;
+The mantle, blue and gold, she wore,
+A rose of opals held before,
+While, graceful in her fairy hand,
+Appear'd a crimson-tufted wand,
+Whose shade on every object threw
+A glowing tint of roseate hue.
+
+"Whence art thou, blooming nymph?" I cried,
+And thus a tuneful voice replied:
+"Men call me Fancy; at my shrine
+Myriads confess my power divine;
+There painters bend the willing knee,
+And laurell'd poets sue to me:
+For mine is every vivid ray,
+Which partial Nature gave the day;
+And, to the music of my song,
+A thousand nameless charms belong.
+
+"The friend of Happiness, I dwell
+Belov'd alike in court or cell;
+Where Glory lifts her ardent eye,
+With hasty, kindred zeal I fly,
+In sun-beams place the hero's form,
+And bid his arm command the storm;
+On swelling clouds an altar raise,
+And fan the tow'ring flame of praise.
+
+"Oft, from the lorn enthusiast's lyre,
+My fingers strike etherial fire,
+And give to sounds of piercing woe,
+Extatic rapture's fervent glow.
+Oft sooth the maniac's throbbing vein,
+And grace her simple, wilder'd strain;
+The tribe of Pain in fetters keep,
+Lull wounded Memory to sleep,
+And, in the mind of gloomy Care,
+Bid Thought an angel's semblance wear.
+
+"Dear to each blest aerial pow'r,
+E'en Wisdom calls me to her bow'r;
+My songs her leisure hours beguile,
+And teach her holy lip to smile.
+And, when the Muse, with thoughtful care,
+Has woven chaplets for her hair,
+I let her, with her myrtles, twine,
+Full many a fragrant rose of mine.
+
+"Then why, since all the wise and gay,
+To me a grateful homage pay,
+Since I to all my hand extend,
+And, liberal, every heart befriend,
+Does Nancy from the croud retire,
+And rend my blossoms from her lyre?
+Though every string the loss bewail,
+And tones of mellow sweetness fail,
+Which us'd to charm the pensive ear,
+When list'ning Friendship bent to hear.
+
+"Tell her I wish not to intrude
+Upon her sacred solitude,
+Nor cast my undulating chain,
+Around her glowing heart again;
+No! every claim I now resign,
+Yet let some small regard be mine;
+Let one, who nurs'd her infant years,
+And wip'd away some bitter tears,
+Still animate the scenes around,
+And make her tread on fairy ground;
+Give playful sweetness to each lay,
+And decorate the passing day.
+
+"Tell her, if now she scorns my strain,
+She may invoke my name in vain;
+In vain my proffered aid implore,
+Contemn'd, I hardly pardon more."
+
+She said, and springing from the earth,
+Attending found her suitor Mirth,
+Who caught her hand, with lively air,
+And plac'd her in his silver chair,
+Which through the yielding ether flew,
+And quickly bore them from my view.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O----
+
+
+Loud beats the rain! The hollow, groan
+  Of rushing winds I hear,
+That with a deep and sullen moan,
+  Pass slowly by the ear.
+
+Soon will my dying fire refuse
+  To yield a cheerful ray,
+Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
+  The latest spark away.
+
+Ah, what a night! the chilly air
+  Bids comfort hence depart,
+While sad repining's clammy wings
+  Cling icy, to my heart.
+
+To-morrow's dawn may fair arise,
+  And lovely to the view;
+The sun with radiance gild the skies,
+  Yet then--I say adieu!
+
+Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
+  And lingering footsteps move,
+Though day may be more soft and fair,
+  Not her, but thee, I love.
+
+Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
+  Stay! and ward off the foe;
+Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
+  Yet tells me I must go.
+
+Forsake these hospitable halls,
+  Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
+To these high towers and ancient walls,
+  Pronounce a long farewell.
+
+Alas! will Time's rapacious hand,
+  These golden days restore?
+Or will he suffer me to taste
+  These golden days no more?
+
+Will he permit that here again,
+  I turn my willing feet?
+That my glad eyes may here again,
+  The look of kindness meet?
+
+That here I ever may behold,
+  Felicity to dwell,
+And often have the painful task
+  Of sighing out farewell?
+
+Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
+  By hope's sweet visions fed;
+And as I fly to seek repose,
+  She flutters round my bed.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Thou, Margaret, lov'st the secret shade,
+  The murmuring brook, or tow'ring tree;
+The village cot within the glade,
+  And lonely walk have charms for thee.
+
+To thee more dear the jasmine bow'r,
+  That shelt'ring, undisturb'd retreat,
+Than the high canopy of pow'r,
+  Or Luxury's embroider'd seat.
+
+More sweet the early morning breeze,
+  Whose odours fill the rural vale,
+The waving bosom of the seas,
+  When ruffled by the rising gale.
+
+Than all which pride or pomp bestow,
+  To grace the lofty Indian maid,
+Who prizes more the diamond's glow,
+  Than all in humbler vest array'd.
+
+Sweet is the rural festive song,
+  Which sounds so wildly o'er the plain,
+When thoughtless mirth the notes prolong,
+  And heart-felt pleasure pours the strain.
+
+Sweet is the dance where light and gay,
+  The village maiden trips along;
+Her simple robe in careless play,
+  As her fleet step winds round the throng.
+
+Sweet is the labourer's blazing fire,
+  When evening shades invite to rest;
+Though weary, home does joy inspire,
+  And social love dilates his breast.
+
+His rural lass with glee prepares,
+  The dainties fondness made her hoard;
+Her husband now the banquet shares,
+  And children croud around the board.
+
+Ah! who could wish to view the air
+  Of listless ease and languid wealth?
+Who with such pleasures could compare
+  The joys of innocence and health?
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA. DEL METASTASIO.
+
+
+"D'atre nubi è il sol ravvolto,
+    Luce infausta il Ciel colora.
+    Pur chi sa? Quest' alma ancora
+    La speranza non perdè.
+
+Non funesta ogni tempesta
+    Co' naufragj all' onde il seno;
+    Ogni tuono, ogni baleno
+    Sempre un fulmine non è."
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Dark, mournful clouds hang o'er the sun,
+  Lights gleam portentous in the air,
+And yet who knows? This troubled heart
+  Still gives not up to blank despair.
+
+Not big with shipwrecks every storm,
+  That sweeps the bosom of the main,
+Nor does the threatening, turbid sky,
+  Always the thunder-bolt contain.
+
+
+
+
+LA FORTUNA. DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+A chi serena io miro,
+  Chiaro è di notte il cielo:
+  Torna per lui nel gelo
+  La terra a germogliar.
+
+Ma se a taluno io giro
+  Torbido il guardo, e fosco,
+  Fronde gli niega il bosco,
+  Onde non trova in mar.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+To him whom kindly I behold,
+  The midnight sky is clear,
+And 'mid the wintry frost and cold,
+  The blushing flowers appear.
+
+But to the wretch who meets my eye,
+  When kindled by disdain,
+The very grove will leaves deny,
+  And waveless be the main.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+Finchè un zeffiro soave
+  Tien del mar l'ira placata,
+  Ogni nave
+  È fortunata,
+  È felice ogni nocchier;
+
+È ben prova di coraggio
+  Incontrar l'onde funeste,
+  Navigar fra le tempeste,
+  E non perdere il sentier.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Whilst zephyr sooths the angry waves
+  Of Ocean into rest,
+Each vessel is in safety borne,
+  And every pilot blest.
+
+But he indeed demands our praise,
+  Who stems the tempest's force,
+And midst the ire of hostile waves,
+  Pursues his destin'd course.
+
+
+
+
+SONETTO.
+
+DI GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.
+
+
+Oh sonno, oh della cheta, umida, ombrosa
+  Notte placido figlio; oh de' mortali
+  Egri conforto, oblio dolce de' mali,
+  Sì gravi, ond' è la vita aspra, e nojosa:
+Soccorri al core omai, che langue, e posa
+  Non have; e queste membra stanche, e frali
+  Solleva: a me ten vola, oh sonno, e l'ali
+  Tue brune sovra me distendi, e posa.
+Ov' è il silenzio, che'l dì fugge, e'l lume?
+  E i lievi sogni, che con non secure
+  Vestigia di seguirti han per costume?
+Lasso, che'nvan te chiamo, e queste oscure,
+  E gelide ombre invan lusingo; oh piume
+  D'asprezza colme; oh notti acerbe, e dure!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET, TO SLEEP.
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Son of the silent, dark, and humid Night,
+  Consoler of the wretched, by whose sway
+The gloomy train of ills are put to flight,
+  That blacken Life's uncertain, tedious day,
+
+O! succour now this restless, pining heart!
+  Give to these feeble, weary limbs repose!
+Fly to me, Sleep! and let thy sombre wings
+  Over my couch their dusky plumes disclose!
+
+O! where is Silence, who avoids the light?
+  Where the wild dreams that flutter in thy train?
+Alas! in vain I call thee, cruel Night!
+  And flatter these insensate shades in vain.
+
+And oh! without thy cheering dews are shed,
+How full of hardships is the downy bed!
+
+
+
+
+EDITHA.
+
+
+Breathing the violet-scented gale,
+  Near to a river's limpid source,
+Which, through a wide-extended vale,
+  Wound slowly on its sleeping course,
+
+Attended by a youthful pair,
+  With rubied lip and roving eye,
+Oft would fair Editha repair,
+  And let her children wander nigh.
+
+There pleas'd behold their footsteps turn,
+  To each new object in their way,
+Their ringlets glittering in the sun,
+  Their faces careless, blythe, and gay.
+
+Once, when they drest their flaxen hair,
+  With flow'rets wild of various hue,
+And with a proud, exulting air,
+  To their delighted parent drew:
+
+"Ah! thus may every day arise!
+  And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!"
+The widow'd mother fondly cries,
+  "Before the youthful blossoms fade.
+
+"My sighs are all dispers'd in air,
+  Resign'd to fate, I weep no more,
+Your welfare now is all my care,
+  Yet am I constant as before.
+
+"The world, because a vermil bloom,
+  Tinges my yet unfading cheek,
+Says I forget my William's tomb,
+  A new and earthly love to seek.
+
+"Because I join the social train,
+  With lip that wears a kindred smile;
+And a gay sonnet's lively strain,
+  Does oft the lonely hour beguile:
+
+"Because no longer now I mourn,
+  With sweeping robes of sable hue;
+No more I clasp the marble urn,
+  Or vainly bid the world adieu.
+
+"Ah! ill my secret soul they know,
+  Where my lost hero still remains,
+Where memory makes my bosom glow,
+  And binds me still in closer chains.
+
+"Whoe'er hath seen my William's form,
+  Heighten'd with every martial grace,
+The ever-varying, unknown charm,
+  Wich beam'd in his expressive face;
+
+"Or heard his fine ideas try,
+  In Fancy's fairy garb to teach,
+While the sweet language of his eye,
+  Excell'd the eloquence of speech,
+
+"Could ne'er suppose my faith would fail,
+  Or aught again this heart enslave;
+That absence would o'er love prevail,
+  Or hope be bounded by the grave.
+
+"Could all but I his merit know?
+  His wit and talents see?
+And is his name by all below
+  Remember'd, but by me?
+
+"No, ne'er will I the memory lose,
+  Though from my sight thy form is flown,
+Of tenderness for other's woes,
+  And noble firmness in thy own.
+
+"No slavish fear thy soul deprest,
+  Of Death, or his attendant train;
+For in thy pure and spotless breast,
+  The fear of heav'n did only reign.
+
+"Thus, when the still-unsated waves
+  Spread o'er thy head their whelming arms,
+When horrid darkness reign'd around,
+  And lightnings flash'd their dire alarms,
+
+[13]"When, wing'd with death, each moment flew,
+  And blood the foaming ocean stain'd,
+Thy courage cool, consistent, true,
+  Its native energy maintain'd.
+
+"And when the fatal moment came,
+  The bullet enter'd in thy side,
+Only thy spirit's beauteous frame,
+  Its prisoner flying, droop'd and died.
+
+"This is it that consoles my mind,
+  Which to my love aspiring flies,
+And makes me hope, in future days,
+  To hail my William in the skies.
+
+"Should tears from my pale eyelids steal,
+  I teach my children's how to flow,
+And make their little bosoms feel,
+  Before their time, the touch, of woe.
+
+"I will not weep! the world shall see
+  That I a nobler tribute pay;
+More grateful both to heaven and thee,
+  By guiding them in virtue's way."
+
+Embracing then her fondest cares,
+  She cast her raptur'd eyes above,
+And breath'd to heav'n emphatic pray'rs,
+  Of mingled reverence and love.
+
+APRIL 15, 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 13: I know not if I have expressed myself with much clearness
+here, but I meant to describe a sea-fight as concisely as possible.]
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Light breezes dance along the air,
+  The sky in smiles is drest,
+And heav'ns pure vault, serene and fair,
+  Pourtrays the cheerful breast.
+
+Each object on this moving ball
+  Assumes a lovely hue;
+So fair good-humour brightens all
+  That comes within her view.
+
+Her presence glads the youthful train,
+  Reanimates the gay,
+And, round her, by the couch of pain,
+  The light-wing'd graces play.
+
+Her winning mein and prompt reply,
+  Can sullen pride appease;
+And the sweet arching of her eye
+  E'en apathy must please.
+
+To you, with whom the damsel dwells
+  A voluntary guest,
+To you, Maria, memory tells,
+  This tribute is addrest.
+
+The feeble strains that I bequeath,
+  With melody o'erpay;
+And let thy lov'd piano breathe
+  A sweet responsive lay.
+
+Although the mellow sounds will rise,
+  So distant from my ear,
+The charmer Fancy, when she tries,
+  Can make them present here.
+
+Can paint thee, as with raptur'd bend,
+  You hail the powers of song;
+When the light fingers quick descend,
+  And fly the notes along:
+
+Feel the soft chord of sadness meet,
+  An echo in the soul,
+And waking joy the strains repeat,
+  When Mirth's-quick measures roll.
+
+This "mistress of the powerful spell,"
+  Can every joy impart;
+And ah! you doubtless know too well
+  How she can wring the heart.
+
+She rules me with despotic reign,
+  As now I say <I>adieu_;
+And makes me feel a sort of pain,
+  As if I spoke to you.
+
+
+FEB. 14, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMANN'S SOLITUDE.
+
+
+Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye,
+Shrunk from the mere _spectator's_ careless gaze,
+And, in retirement sought the social smile,
+The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice
+Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes,
+And which sounds far more grateful to the ear,
+Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve,
+Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann!
+Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do,
+With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air,
+And tearful eye, averted from mankind.
+No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears
+The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace;
+The kind Samaritan that heals our woes,
+The nurse of Science, and, of future fame
+The gentle harbinger: her meek abode
+Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart,
+E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance,
+In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love,
+And hopes, with fond security, to pass
+The evening of a long-protracted day,
+Serenely joyful, there.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORY OF MR. AGOSTINO ISOLA,
+
+OF CAMBRIDGE,
+
+Who died on the 5th of June, 1797.
+
+
+Awake, O Gratitude! nor let the tears
+Of selfish Sorrow smother up thy voice,
+When it should speak of a departed friend.
+A tender friend, the first I ever lost!
+For Destiny till now was merciful,
+And though I oft have felt a transient pang,
+For worth unknown, and wept awhile for those,
+Whom long acquaintance only made me love,
+No keen regret laid pining at my heart,
+Nor Memory in the solitary hour,
+Would sting with grief, as when she speaks
+Thy virtue, knowledge, wisdom, gentleness,
+Thy venerable age, and says that I
+Had once the happiness to call thee friend.
+
+Yes! I once bore that title, and my heart
+Thought nobler of itself, that one so good,
+So honor'd, so rever'd, should give it me.
+O _Isola!_ when that glad season comes,
+Which brought redemption to a ruin'd world,
+And, like thee, hides beneath the snow of age,
+A gay, benevolent, and feeling heart,
+I hop'd again to hear thy tongue repeat,
+With youthful warmth and zealous energy,
+Those passages, where Poetry assumes
+An air divine, and wakes th' attentive soul
+To holy rapture! Then you promis'd me
+The luxury to weep o'er Dante's muse,
+And fair Italia's loftier poets hail.
+
+                    I have often heard
+That years would blunt the feelings of the soul,
+And apathy ice the once-glowing heart.
+Injurious prejudice! Dear, guileless friend!
+Thou read'st mankind, but saw not, or forgot
+Their faults and vices; for thy breast was still
+The residence of sweet Simplicity,
+Daughter of letter'd Wisdom, and the friend
+Of Love and Pity. Happy soul, farewell!
+Long shall we mourn thee! longer will it be,
+"Ere we shall look upon thy like again!"
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This humble tribute to the memory of my venerated friend, was written in
+the first impulse of my sorrow for his loss, and though unworthy of his
+virtues, is still a small memorial of my respect for a man, on whose
+tomb might justly be inscribed, as I have seen on an old monument:
+
+
+  "Heven hath his soule.
+  He fruits of Pietie,
+  This Towne his want.
+  Our hearts his Memorie."
+
+
+
+
+TO THE NUNS OF BODNEY.
+
+
+Ye holy women, say! will ye accept
+The passing tribute of a humble friend?
+Stranger indeed to you and to your faith,
+But O! I hope not stranger to the zeal,
+Which warm'd your bosoms in Religion's cause.
+When impious men commanded you to break
+The vow which bound your souls, and which in youth
+Warm Piety's emphatic lips had made.
+Say! will ye suffer me on that rude tomb,
+Where she reposes (whose benignant smile,
+Whose animated, life-inspiring eye,
+And faded form, majestic, still appears
+In Thought's delusive hour) to shed a tear?
+On her, whose sainted look, though seen but once,
+I never can forget, till Time shall wrap
+The veil of Death around me, and make dumb
+The voice of Memory. Ah! "how low she lies!"
+No marble monument to speak her praise,
+And tell the world that here a DILLON rests.
+One, who in beauty's prime forsook the world,
+And, _self-bereav'd_ of all it holds most dear,
+Retir'd, to pass the pilgrimage of life,
+In solemn prayer and peaceful solitude.
+Ah, vain desire! Ambition's scowling eye
+Must see the cloister, as the palace, low,
+And meek-ey'd Quiet quit her last abode,
+Ere he can pause to look upon the wreck,
+And rue the wild impatience of his hand.
+
+Hail! blessed spirit! This rude cypher'd stone.
+On which a sister's pensive eye shall muse
+In sorrow, and another relative
+In sweet, though mournful, recollection, bend,
+Shall call a tear into the stranger's eye
+Whene'er he hears the tale, yet make him proud
+That Britain's hospitable land should yield
+All that you could accept, _an humble grave_.
+
+
+
+
+_Written in London, on the 19th of March, 1796._
+
+
+A lov'd companion, chosen friend,
+  Does at this hour depart,
+Whom the dear name of father binds
+  Still closer to my heart.
+
+On him may joy-dispensing heav'n
+  Each calm delight bestow,
+And eas'd of peace-destroying care
+  His life serenely flow!
+
+Did I but know his bosom calm,
+  And free from anxious fear,
+Around me in more cheerful hues
+  Would every scene appear.
+
+And I will hope that he, who ne'er
+  Repin'd at heav'n's decree,
+But ever patient and resign'd,
+  Submissive bent the knee:
+
+Who, best of fathers, never sought
+  For arbitrary sway,
+But free within each youthful mind,
+  Bade Reason lead the way.
+
+Who taught us, 'stead of servile fear,
+  A warm esteem to prove,
+And bade each act of duty spring,
+  From gratitude and love.
+
+Yes, I must hope that generous mind
+  With many cares opprest,
+Shall in the winter of his days
+  With sweet repose be blest.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A friend, a year or two ago, gave me_ Joseph's Reconciliation with
+his Brethren, _as a subject to write upon; but I was afraid of not
+treating it in such a manner as a sacred story deserved, and gave up
+the attempt, when I had written little more than the following lines,
+to account for their not knowing him, although he well remembered them;
+and am persuaded to let them appear here_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They, ere he left them, had attain'd their prime
+And were less alter'd by the hand of Time;
+But, the slim youth no longer met their view,
+Fair, as the fancy e'er a seraph drew.
+Who still, upborne by joy, in smiles was found,
+With step elate that scarcely press'd the ground.
+Before a grief had raz'd his youthful breast,
+Or care had robb'd his brilliant eyes of rest.
+When lofty visions swam before his sight,
+And dreams of empire wrapt his soul at night.
+Whose hair luxuriant flow'd in glossy pride,
+And, from his snowy forehead, wav'd aside;
+Which, vein'd with purest azure, rose serene,
+And threw complacence o'er a rapturous mien.
+The wandering light that sparkled in his eye,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+The speaking form, by each emotion sway'd,
+The voice, that softest music had convey'd,
+Were now matur'd. No more the child they saw,
+But one, with majesty, inspiring awe;
+Whose silken locks no more in ringlets flow,
+But gold and purple bind his manly brow:
+No more the envied robe his limbs invest,
+In all the pomp of eastern monarchs drest.
+The sun of Egypt had embrown'd his face,
+And time had ripen'd every youthful grace.
+
+As when the morn, in vivid colours gay,
+And tender beauty, flies to meet the day,
+Her lively tints lose their primeval hue,
+The white and saffron mingle with the blue,
+A glowing blush o'er the whole ether reigns,
+But not a cloud its genuine tint retains.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+Where yonder mossy ruins lie,
+And desolation strikes the eye,
+A noble mansion, high and fair,
+Once rear'd its turrets in the air.
+There infant warriors drew their breath,
+And learn'd to scorn the fear of death.
+In halls where martial trophies hung,
+They listen'd while the minstrels sung,
+Of pain and glory, toil and care,
+And all the horrid charms of war:
+There caught the fond desire of fame,
+And panted for a hero's name.
+Alas! too oft in youthful bloom,
+Renown has crown'd the early tomb,
+Has pierc'd the widow's bosom deep,
+And taught the mother's eyes to weep.
+She, on whose tale the stripling hung,
+While pride and sorrow rul'd her tongue.
+His father's gallant acts to tell,
+How bold he fought, how bravely fell.
+
+Methinks e'en now I hear her speak,
+I see the tear upon her cheek;
+The musing boy's abstracted brow,
+And the high-arching eye below.
+The stifled sigh and anxious heave,
+The kindling heart which dares not grieve;
+The finely-elevated head,
+The hand upon the bosom spread,
+Proclaim him wrought by potent charms,
+And speak his very soul in arms.
+
+Incautious zeal! what hast thou done?
+The tale has robb'd thee of thy son.
+And while thy pious tears deplore,
+The loss of him who lives no more,
+Ambition wakes her restless fire,
+The boy will emulate his sire,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+_Written April the 18th, 1796_
+
+
+The beauteous queen of social love,
+Descending from the realms above,
+Through the wide space of ether flew,
+With care this little world to view,
+Till, tir'd with wandering, at the last,
+Through every different climate past,
+She sought not out a splendid dome,
+But made this humble cot her home.
+
+The sweetest lyre would strive in vain,
+To sing the pleasures of her reign,
+Whose powerful influence does impart,
+New softness to the feeling heart,
+Bids it each narrow thought resign,
+And fills it with a warmth benign.
+
+From morning till the close of day,
+Here all a grateful homage pay,
+For here she plays her harmless wiles,
+And scatters her endearing smiles;
+Here no proud rivals intervene,
+And all, though glowing, is serene.
+Here, since she first her visit paid,
+Still has the sweet enchantress staid,
+And never met a single slight,
+Or spread her snowy plumes for flight.
+
+Contented 'neath the humble roof;
+No timid heart is kept aloof;
+A kind and condescending guest,
+She lightens each despairing breast;
+Where pain her poignant venom spreads,
+The balm of tenderness she sheds,
+Which breathes a calm repose around,
+And heals at last the burning wound.
+
+When the heart throbs with bitter woe,
+Her winning mien disarms the foe,
+And the kind glances of her eye,
+Force the desponding power to fly.
+She gives a zest to every joy,
+Forbids tranquillity to cloy,
+Softens misfortune, chases fear,
+And balm distills in every tear.
+'Tis she alone can make us know,
+A truly blissful hour below,
+Can smooth the furrow'd brow of life,
+And hush the thundering voice of strife.
+
+O, may she still exert her power,
+Still lead us to the rural bower,
+Which vaunting Pride does ne'er disgrace,
+Or critic Envy's spiteful face.
+Here Raymond ever shall delight,
+To sit and watch the closing night;
+And open-hearted Gertrude here,
+With her sweet infant shall appear.
+Here oft her brother shall prepare,
+A wreath for Mary's curling hair;
+While soft-voic'd Anna, fond of play,
+And all the train, alert and gay,
+In healthful games shall frolic round,
+And revel on the mossy ground.
+
+Here Edmund shall forget his care,
+And often fill an elbow chair;
+While Sophia, friendly and sincere,
+Shall ever find a welcome here.
+
+Yet would my hovering fancy trace,
+The features of each happy face;
+And sympathy informs my mind,
+That they the same emotions find;
+That in each scene of harmless glee,
+Memory recalls the absent three:
+And all, though distance strives to part,
+Will hold communion in the heart.
+
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham
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+Project Gutenberg's Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Elegies and Other Small Poems
+
+Author: Matilda Betham
+
+Release Date: February 20, 2004 [EBook #11193]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+ELEGIES AND OTHER SMALL POEMS
+
+BY
+
+MATILDA BETHAM.
+
+
+
+_To the Hon. LADY JERNINGHAM_.
+
+_Madam_,
+
+_The many endearing instances of regard I have experienced since I had
+the honor of being known to your Ladyship, while they impress my mind
+with gratitude, flatter my hopes with a favourable reception of the
+following miscellanies, which, under your patronage, I venture to submit
+to the public_.
+
+_Considered as the first essays of an early period of life, and as the
+exercises of leisure, my wishes suggest, that they may not, perhaps, be
+found wholly unworthy of attention; but whatever be their fate with
+others, I shall feel myself much gratified, if, in your Ladyship's
+judgment, they may be allowed some merit_.
+
+_Though there cannot be a greater pleasure than dwelling on the
+excellencies of a distinguished and amiable character, I know not that
+it would be permitted me to indulge my present inclination with
+enumerating those virtues and endowments which confessedly distinguish
+your Ladyship, but my wishes I may offer, and that you may long, very
+long, continue to bless your family, to adorn your rank, and console
+the unhappy, is the sincere prayer of_
+
+_Your Ladyship's most obliged humble servant, MATILDA BETHAM_.
+
+_Stonham, Nov. 20, 1797._
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+
+If, in the following pages, there may be found any unacknowledged
+imitations, I hope I shall not be censured as an intentional plagiarist;
+for it has been my wish, however I may be esteemed presumptuous, not
+to be unjust; and I sometimes fear lest an imperfect recollection of
+another's idea should have appeared to me as a dawning thought of my
+own. Wherever I could recollect a similar passage, although unnoticed
+at the time I wrote, it has been either altered or acknowledged.
+
+I commit these trifles to the press with the anxiety necessarily
+resulting from a desire that they may not be deemed altogether
+worthless. Though the natural partiality of the writer may be somewhat
+strengthened by the commendations of friends and parents, I am well
+aware that no apology can give currency to imperfection.
+
+I have not vainly attempted to ascend to the steeps of Parnassus. If,
+wandering at its foot, I have mistaken perishable shrubs for never-dying
+flowers, the errors of a youthful mind, first viewing the fascinating
+regions of fancy, will not be rigidly condemned; for wherever there
+is true taste, there will be genuine candour.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+  To ----, with Arthur and Albina
+  Arthur and Albina
+  The Fraternal Duel
+  Lines in a Letter to A.R.C.
+  The Lonely Walk
+  The Outlaw
+  Invitation
+  Whitsun-Monday
+  Philemon
+  On a Fan
+  To Simplicity
+  The Terrors of Guilt
+  Cen'lin, Prince of Mercia
+  Rhapsody
+  Human Pleasure or Pain
+  The Complaint of Fancy
+  On the Eve of Departure from O----
+  To M.I.
+  Translation from Metastasio
+  ---------- from Della Casa
+  Editha
+  To M.I.
+  Written in Zimmerman's Solitude
+  To the Memory of Mr. Agostino Isola
+  To the Nuns of Bodney
+  Written in London
+  Fragment
+  Fragment
+  Written April 18, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+To ---- WITH ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+1794.
+
+
+Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey,
+Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray:
+Let Criticism then her distance keep,
+And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep;
+For, let whatever sentence be their due,
+I feel I cannot censure bear from you.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the battle, on a
+hill, where, at its commencement, she had retired to make vows to heaven
+for his success.--Evening_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR and ALBINA.
+
+
+Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale,
+  And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn;
+And yet I hear net in the silent vale,
+  A sound to tell me Arthur does return.
+
+Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing!
+  Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils!
+Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing,
+  And loud applause repay successful toils!
+
+Reward the flame, ye great celestial pow'rs,
+  The noble flame that in his bosom glows!
+Inspire him, Druids, from your holy bow'rs,
+  With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes![1]
+
+With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm,
+  And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly,
+Make him terrific by some potent charm,
+  And add new lightening to his piercing eye!
+
+Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame,
+  The Roman banners may less proudly flow,
+Then he may humble their detested name,
+  And their high plumes wave o'er' a British brow!
+
+Then may his chariot,[2] wheeling o'er the plain,
+  Hurl death and desolation all around,
+While his intrepid front appals their train,
+  And make our proud invaders bite the ground!
+
+But yet I hear no lively foot advance;
+  No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear!'
+And I may carve this eagle-darting lance
+  For one, whose voice I never more shall hear!
+
+Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies,
+  Nor heav'n, propitious, smil'd upon my pray'r;
+And ah! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise
+  To plunge me in the horrors of despair!
+
+Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield--
+  Alas! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care:
+And, what can valour, when th'extended shield[3]
+  May leave, so oft, his gen'rous bosom bare?
+
+Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain?
+  Can you in vain extend your spotless hands?
+Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain,
+  And save its altars from unhallow'd bands?
+
+Oh yes! I'll fear no more! The sacred groves,[4]
+  That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies;
+Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves,
+  Hidden from weak, unconsecrated eyes:
+
+Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse,
+  Piercing, with uprais'd eyes, each mist that shrouds,
+And, listening, catch the heav'n-dictated verse,
+  By airs etherial wailed from the clouds:
+
+It ne'er can be--but hark! I hear the sound
+  Of some one's step; yet not the youth I love;
+He would have flown, and scarcely touch'd the ground,
+  Not ling'ring thus, with weary caution, move.
+
+The heavy wanderer approaches nigh,
+  But the drear darkness skreens him from my views
+Ah, gracious heav'n! it was my Arthur's sigh,
+  Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew.
+
+Oh speak! inform me what I have to fear!
+  Speak, and relieve my doubting, trembling heart!
+To thy Albina, with a tongue sincere,
+  A portion of thy wretchedness impart!"
+
+"Sweet maid," replied the wounded, dying youth,
+  In accents mournful, tremulous and slow,
+"Yes, I will ever answer thee with truth,
+  While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow.
+
+We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire,
+  The tow'ring, sacrilegious eagle[5] flew;
+Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire,
+  When from the field indignant they withdrew.
+
+But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue,
+  The glowing beauties of that joyful sight;
+Ill can my breast, with keenest torture wrung,
+  Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight.
+
+To others then I leave the envied strain,
+  Which shall for ages rend the British air;
+Nor will thy partial ear expect, in vain,
+  To find the humble name of Arthur there.
+
+I go, while now the victory is warm,
+  The just reward of valour to obtain;
+Soon I return, clad in a nobler form,[6]
+  Again to triumph, and again be slain.
+
+Ah! then, my dear Albina, cease to grieve,
+  Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine;
+For, though my present favour'd form I leave,
+  This constant heart shall still be only thine.
+
+Alas! e'en now I feel the icy hand
+  Of hasty death, press down my swelling heart;
+E'en now I hear a sweet aerial band,
+  Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart.
+
+Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn,
+  Remember that he bravely, nobly died;
+Remember that he quickly will return,
+  And claim again his lov'd, his destin'd bride."
+
+As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled,
+  And parting life streamed forth at every vein,
+His quivering lip, in whispers, softly said,
+  "Remember, Arthur dies to live again!"
+
+"Oh stay, dear youth!" the hapless maiden cries,
+  My best-lov'd Arthur, but one moment stay!
+And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes,
+  So lately lighted at the torch of day.
+
+Ah! yet once more, that look of tender love,
+  Of fond regret, my Arthur, let me view!
+Let one more effort thy affection, prove,
+  And bid me once, once more, a long adieu.
+
+Now, ere the moon withdraws her feeble light,
+  Ope yet again on me thy fading eye!
+He hears not! memory has ta'en her flight,
+  And vanish'd with that last convulsive sigh.
+
+Why did I variegated wreaths prepare,
+  To pay the conqueror every honor due?
+Or, why, with fillets, bind my flowing hair,
+  And tinge my arms of the bright azure hue?[7]
+
+Oh! must this constant bosom beat no more?
+  This skilful hand no more direct the spear?
+Must lost Albina still her fate deplore,
+  And ever drop the unavailing tear?
+
+Must I no more that lovely face review,
+  Expressing each emotion of the mind?
+No more repeat a sweetly sad adieu?
+  No more gay chaplets on his forehead bind?
+
+His forehead, high and fair, with martial grace,
+  And bold, free curls of glossy chesnut crown'd;
+The full, dark eye-brow which adorn'd his face,
+  O'erwhelming foes with terror as he frown'd.
+
+His voice, though strong, harmoniously clear,
+  No more shall fill Albina with delight;
+No more shall sooth her still-attentive ear,
+  And make her fancy every sorrow light.
+
+Farewell to love, to happiness, and joy!
+  Yet will I cull the summer's choicest bloom;
+Funereal chaplets shall my time employ,
+  And wither daily on my Arthur's tomb."
+
+As thus she mourn'd, with bitterest woe opprest,
+  A ray of light illumin'd all the grove,
+And a consoling voice the fair addrest,
+  In the soft accents of parental love.
+
+Though still she clasp'd her hero's valued corse,
+  She slowly rais'd her languid, streaming eyes,
+And own'd astonishment's resistless force,
+  Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize.
+
+The form was clad in robes of purest white,
+  That swept with solemn dignity the ground;
+Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night,
+  Which reign'd in awful majesty around.
+
+The silver beard did reverence demand,[8]
+  And told her that a holy bard was there,
+Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand,
+  Which threw a lustre on the waving hair.
+
+His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth,
+  United with the wisdom of the sage;
+And speaking, with the simple voice of truth,
+  He blended the solemnity of age.
+
+"Arise! thou loveliest of misfortune's train,
+  And cease these weak, desponding tears to shed;
+The soft effusions of thy grief restrain,
+  Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead.
+
+The youth you mourn, far from these scenes of woe,
+  To worlds of never-ending joy is flown;
+Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow,
+  And his fair temples wear a princely crown.
+
+Ah then, presumptuous! question not the skies,
+  Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore;
+Attend to this, and cease your fruitless sighs,
+  You soon shall meet where you can part no more."[9]
+
+Awe-struck, his sacred wisdom she confest,
+  Which pour'd sweet consolation on her mind;
+She cross'd her blood-stain'd hands upon her breast,
+  And bow'd her humble, grateful head, resign'd.
+
+AUGUST 27, 1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 1: Alluding to the armour of the Romani.]
+
+[Footnote 2: The Britons fought in low chariots, which they could leave
+and re-ascend at pleasure.]
+
+[Footnote 3: The shield being their only armour, when held out to
+protect a wounded or dying friend, left them defenceless.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The groves were consecrated to the celebration of religious
+mysteries.]
+
+[Footnote 5: The Roman standard.]
+
+[Footnote 6: The Druids are said to have preached the doctrine of
+transmigration, in order to inspire their warriors with the greater
+contempt of death.]
+
+[Footnote 7: The practice of staining themselves with blue was common
+among the Britons.]
+
+[Footnote 8: The people, excepting the priests, shaved off all the hair
+from their faces, but what grew on the upper lip.]
+
+[Footnote 9: This equivocal manner of speech may be supposed natural
+enough in one of this order of priests, who, it is said, held a more
+refined idea of a future state than they preached to the people.]
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
+    That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame;
+  For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
+
+SHENSTONE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE FRATERNAL DUEL.
+
+
+'Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
+  I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
+Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
+  Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
+
+No more may I its sparkling glories view!
+  No more its piercing lustre meet my eye!
+On night's black wings my only comfort flew;
+  At breath of morn I sicken and I die.
+
+Where can I fly? In what sequester'd clime
+  Does darkness ever hold her ebon reign?
+Where woeful dirges measure out the time,
+  And endless echoes breathe the sullen strain.
+
+Where dreary mountains rear their low'ring heads,
+  To pierce the heavy and umbrageous clouds;
+And where the cavern dewy moisture sheds,
+  And night's thick veil the guilty mourner shrouds.
+
+There, lost in horrors, I might vent my sighs;
+  To open misery myself resign;
+Might snatch each torturing vision ere it flies,
+  And feast on prospects desolate as mine.
+
+Oh! let me thither quickly take my flight,
+  And chuse a favourite and a final seat,
+In scenes which would each gentler mind affright,
+  But for my guilt affords a fit retreat.
+
+There, where no ray, no gleam of light could come,
+  There, and there only, could I find relief;
+There might I ruminate on Edward's doom,
+  And lose myself in luxury of grief.
+
+And, as it is, though joys around me shine,
+  Though pleasure here erects her dazzling brow,
+Wrapt in despondence, will I droop and pine,
+  And tears of anguish shall for ever flow.
+
+Oh Edward! could'st thou see this alter'd frame,
+  Which youthful graces lately did adorn!
+Could'st thou behold, and think me still the same,
+  Thy once gay friend, thus hapless and forlorn?
+
+The cheek, so late by ruddy health embrown'd,
+  Now pale and faded with incessant tears;
+The eye, which once elate, disdain'd the ground,
+  Now sunk and languid in its orb appears.
+
+Oh! never, never will I cease to grieve!
+  And sure repentance pardon may obtain!
+Can woe unfeign'd incite heav'n to relieve
+  A wretch opprest with agonizing pain?
+
+Ah no! my hands are stain'd with brother's blood!
+  A father's curses load my sinking head!
+I wish to die, but dare not pass the flood,
+  For there, as well as here, my hopes are fled.
+
+Sleep, which was meant to chase away the thought,
+  To lull the sound of dissonant despair,
+Appears to me with added terrors fraught,
+  And my torn heart can find no refuge there.
+
+If, for a moment, I its fetters wear,
+  And its soft pressure these pale eyes controul,
+I injur'd Emma's just reproaches hear,
+  Or Edward's form appals my shrinking soul.
+
+When in those transitory sleeps I lie,
+  I oft his beauteous, bleeding form review;
+A mild, benignant lustre lights his eye,
+  As come to bid a friend a last adieu.
+
+I start, I shudder at his tuneful voice,
+  When it, in soothing whispers, meets my ear;
+That sound, which oft has made my heart rejoice,
+  I now all-trembling and affrighted hear.
+
+Was it thy fault, dear, much-lamented youth
+  If lovely Emma did thy suit prefer?
+She saw thee form'd of tenderness and truth,
+  And kings might glory to be lov'd by her.
+
+Thy native sweetness won her artless heart;
+  And well our different characters she knew;
+Whilst thy mild looks did happiness impart,
+  She saw the murderer in each glance I threw.
+
+Yet for this, meanly, did I thee upbraid,
+  And basely urg'd an elder brother's right;
+Then, calling impious passion to my aid,
+  Forc'd thee, unwilling, to the fatal fight.
+
+Oh! ne'er shall I forget the dreadful hour,
+  I sheath'd my weapon in thy noble breast;
+Thy dying hand clasp'd mine, with feeble pow'r,
+  And to thy mangled bosom fondly prest.
+
+Whilst o'er thee, I, in speechless anguish hung,
+  Thou saw'st the wild distraction of my eye;
+And, though the chills of death restrain'd thy tongue
+  Thy bosom heav'd a sympathetic sigh.
+
+With cruel tenderness my friends contriv'd,
+  To bear me from the drear, polluted shore;
+Of every joy, of peace itself depriv'd,
+  Which this despairing breast shall know no more.
+
+Since this what frenzy has inspir'd my mind!
+  My tortur'd mem'ry cannot it retrace;
+No relique now of former days I find,
+  But horrors, which e'en madness can't efface.
+
+My dearest brother, and my tenderest friend,
+  O come, and save me from this dark abyss!
+Draw hence the darts which my rack'd bosom rend!
+  And bear me with you to the realms of bliss!
+
+Ah! whence that pang which smote my shuddering heart?
+  Where now, for refuge, can lost Anselm fly?
+'Tis Death! I know him by his crimson dart!
+  And, am I fit? Oh heav'ns! I cannot die!
+
+My spirit is not form'd for rapid flight;
+  It cannot cut the vast expanse of air,
+No, never can it reach the realms of light,
+  For sin, a weight immoveable, lies there!'
+
+Thus wretched Anselm rav'd: unhappy youth!
+  Though passion hurried thee so far astray,
+Thy infant soul ador'd the God of Truth,
+  And virtue usher'd in thy vernal day.
+
+Oh! had he learn'd his passions to restrain,
+  And let cool reason in his breast preside,
+His op'ning wisdom had not bloom'd in vain,
+  Nor had he, ere the prime of manhood, died.
+
+Yet, if remorse could expiate his guilt,
+  If the worst sufferings could the crime erase,
+If tears could wash away the blood he spilt,
+  Then Anselm's penitence obtain'd him grace.
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1794.
+
+
+
+IN A LETTER to A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA.
+
+
+Forgive me, if I wound your ear,
+  By calling of you Nancy,
+Which is the name of my sweet friend,
+  The other's but her fancy.
+
+Ah, dearest girl! how could your mind
+  The strange distinction frame?
+The whimsical, unjust caprice,
+  Which robs you of your name.
+
+_Nancy_ agrees with what we see,
+  A being wild and airy;
+Gay as a nymph of Flora's train,
+  Fantastic as a fairy.
+
+But _Anna's_ of a different kind,
+  A melancholy maid;
+Boasting a sentimental soul,
+  In solemn pomp array'd.
+
+Oh ne'er will I forsake the sound,
+  So artless and so free!
+Be what you will with all mankind.
+  But _Nancy_ still with me.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONELY WALK,
+
+To W.S.B.
+
+
+When the grey evening spreads a calm around,
+  Tell me, has thy bewilder'd fancy sought,
+Retir'd in some sequestered spot of ground,
+  Rest, from the labour of eternal thought?
+
+When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose,
+  The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat,
+In dream-like musing every care we lose,
+  And wind our way with slowly-moving feet.
+
+Oft, to indulge the thought-exploded sig,
+  When, slowly wandering at the close of day,
+Light emanations from th'abstracted eye,
+  With transient beauty in the sun-beams play,
+
+Thy sister seeks the solitary shade.
+  Her mind inhaling the aerial gloom,
+Sees, not-observing, the fair landscape fade,
+  And sullen mist usurping day-light's room.
+
+Not her's the feelings which regret inspires,
+  When sorrows keen have made the spirits low;
+Adversity has damp'd the youthful fires,
+  And all the tears that fall are tears of woe.
+
+Ah no! possessing every social bliss,
+  I cannot, will not at my fate repine;
+Or ask for happiness excelling this,
+  When such a world of treasures now are mine!
+
+And, when the melancholy grove I seek,
+  Scarce can my palpitating heart controul,
+While silent tears are trembling on my cheek,
+  The flood of pleasure swelling in my soul.
+
+But soon my too-elated thoughts are calm,
+  The tumults of the mental chaos cease;
+A soft oblivion the rais'd senses charm,
+  And lull to a reflecting, soothing peace.
+
+Hail, sweet enhancements of the languid mind!
+  Whose calm reposes restless worldlings scorn;
+But from whose aid recruited strength we find,
+  And waken, lively as the bird of morn.
+
+And thou, lov'd boy, in whose congenial breast,
+  I doubt not but those sentiments reside;
+For we, our thoughts, our actions have confest,
+  As much in hearts as persons are allied;
+
+Hail thou, my brother! may thy steps be led
+  By heav'nly wisdom through this world of care,
+And gain the realms for which our Saviour, bled!
+  Nor pain, nor lassitude await us there.
+
+OCTOBER 13, 1794.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The first Percy, who came over with William the Conqueror, married a
+Saxon lady, called Emma de Port, said to have been the daughter of the
+last Saxon Earl of Northumberland, whose possessions had been given to
+him (Lord William de Percy) for his services_.
+
+_I have taken the liberty of supposing this lady to have had a
+brother._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE OUTLAW.
+
+
+Before the fair Aurora spread
+  Her azure mantle o'er the skies,
+While sleep its pleasing influence shed,
+  On grateful mortals weary eyes,
+
+Emerg'd from a surrounding wood,
+  On a bleak mountain's sullen brow,
+A solitary outlaw stood,
+  And view'd, through mist, the world below.
+
+With deep regret his bosom fraught,
+  His arms were wreath'd in sorrow's knot[10];
+Nor seem'd he yet, by patience taught,
+  To bear submissively his lot.
+
+Hidden was each enlivening grace;
+  Deprest by his untimely doom;
+A hectic flush o'erspread his face,
+  Instead of nature's florid bloom.
+
+Untutor'd in the school of grief,
+  His pining spirit spoke in sighs;
+Though almost hopeless of relief,
+  He look'd around with eager eyes;
+
+And fondly bent an anxious ear,
+  To the slow murmuring of the breeze,
+Essaying oft, in vain, to hear
+  A friendly step beneath the trees.
+
+"Delusive wish!" at last he cried,
+  "Why wilt thou fill my aching breast?
+And thus my miseries deride,
+  By telling how I might be blest.
+
+"No kind consolers hither bend,
+  By sympathy to ease my care;
+Here comes no ever-faithful friend,
+  Who yet might shield me from despair.
+
+"The abbey's well-known tow'r I seek,
+  It fades from my impassion'd eye;
+The fancied outlines softly break,
+  And melt into the distant sky.
+
+"No pitying object now remains,
+  That I may know those scenes are near,
+Where generous love and friendship reigns,
+  And Alwin's name may claim a tear.
+
+"And you, my lov'd paternal groves,
+  Where I no more must shew my head;
+In your fair walks a stranger roves,
+  And treacherous Normans daily tread!
+
+"E'en now their presence may prophane
+  The halls where Herbert did reside!
+E'en now may joy and gladness reign,
+  And Adelaide be Percy's bride.
+
+"Yet no! her soul, the seat of truth,
+  Would ne'er a second love receive!
+The sacred vows of artless youth,
+  Her Alwin ever shall believe!
+
+"They still shall comfort my sad heart,
+  And sooth the anguish of my mind;
+Shall still a cheering hope impart,
+  And make me somewhat more resign'd.
+
+"Ah! yet I hear her trembling hand,
+  Withdraw the bolt to set me free!
+Yet hear the hasty, kind command,
+  My Alwin fly, and live for me!
+
+"No other can obtain my love!
+  I would for thee the world resign!
+Then let thy prompt obedience prove
+  That thou art truly, wholly mine."
+
+"And ever to her promise true,
+  No pleasure shall her soul elate,
+For, yet her constant thoughts pursue
+  A wretched Outlaw's hapless fate!
+
+"In vain proud Ranulph[11] shall upbraid,
+  My Adelaide is still the same!
+And, for thy sake, dear, lovely maid,
+  I will not curse the Norman name!
+
+"Not, though my father's large domains,
+  Are plunder'd by the murderous bands;
+And my Northumbria's fertile plains,
+  Lie wasted by their cruel hands;
+
+"Though, as a son, I mourn the fate
+  Of those, to whom my life I owe;
+And hate the hearts that thus create
+  The dimness of severest woe;
+
+"Though I behold no friendly steel,
+  To give my Emma vengeance, drawn;
+And though a brother's pangs I feel,
+  To know her destitute, forlorn;
+
+"Though, banish'd from the sight of day,
+  In dreary solitude I pine;
+And, forc'd to feel a tyrant's sway,
+  Each dear paternal right resign;
+
+"Yet will I seal my lips; nor dare
+  To extricate my haughty foes:
+The hateful, guilty root I spare,
+  Which can produce so fair a rose.
+
+"But thou, my heart, wilt thou be calm?
+  Oh! tell me, can reflection cease;
+And this fond bosom, now so warm,
+  Be ever tranquilliz'd to peace!
+
+"Ah, no! a father's scornful eye
+  Is ever present to my view;
+And tells me, Herbert dar'd to die,
+  Though Normans could his son subdue.
+
+"Each feeble plea his soul disdains,
+  They cannot for the fault atone;
+Though, when I left Northumbria's plains,
+  I had not fifteen summers known.
+
+"And hear me, Herbert, when I swear
+  It was not fear that urg'd my flight;
+A worthless life was not my care,
+  I thought but of a parent's right.
+
+"Then pardon that my youth comply'd,
+  To ease a mother's anxious fears
+That, when I rather would have died,
+  I yielded to a sister's tears.
+
+"Alas! a peasant's humble shed,
+  Soon saw our sainted parents' death,
+Who, while our hearts in anguish bled,
+  With pious hopes resign'd her breath.
+
+"When mists foretel the ev'ning near,
+  And clouds of chilling dew arise,
+We sought the grave of her so dear,
+  And offer'd there our tears and sighs.
+
+"'Till mild reflection lent her aid,
+  And bade our filial sorrows cease;
+The fever of our souls allay'd,
+  We sunk into a mournful peace.
+
+"My pensive bosom strove to keep
+  A dying mother's last request;
+I let the thoughts of vengeance sleep,
+  And studied to make Emma blest.
+
+"No longer shunning of the dawn,
+  Or seeking the sequester'd shade,
+I call'd my sister to the lawn,
+  And trod with her the flow'ry glade.
+
+"Submitting to our wayward fate,
+  I talk'd not of the treasures flown;
+But still seem'd easy and sedate,
+  While pressing verdure not my own.
+
+"Then all I wish'd, and all I fear'd,
+  Was by fraternal love inspir'd;
+And one, by every tie endear'd,
+  The only friend my soul desir'd.
+
+"Yet soon that pleasing calmness fled,
+  A Norman beauty won my heart,
+Imperious love my footsteps led,
+  And bade all secrecy depart.
+
+"I own'd the splendour of my race,
+  Altho' a peasant's form I bore;
+I fancied silence was disgrace,
+  And hid my sentiments no more.
+
+"Her father's tongue my fate decreed,
+  And doom'd great Herbert's son to shame;
+For, tho' by love from prison freed,
+  I bear an outlaw's hateful name.
+
+"My sister no fond friend can shield,
+  No relative allay her grief;
+For tyranny all hearts hath steel'd,
+  And nought can give her soul relief.
+
+"With ev'ry quality to charm,
+  A guardian will not heaven allow,
+To screen thy artless youth from harm,
+  And, fair deserted! help thee now!
+
+"No aid, no comfort, can be nigh!
+  And shall thy brother here remain?
+Has he not fortitude to fly,
+  And burst the heavy, servile chain?
+
+"Why should I linger here alone,
+  Unseen by every human eye?
+To live unfriended and unknown,
+  And in this dreary desart die.
+
+"For now the sun-beams gild the sky,
+  And give the misty morning grace,
+Far from the light I'm doom'd to fly,
+  Abandon'd by the human race.
+
+"But no! I'll bear suspense no more!
+  Too dear a price to purchase breath;
+I'll seek the scenes I yet deplore,
+  And meet a welcome, wish'd-for, death."
+
+Tortur'd to frenzy, Alwin flew,
+  And as he left his sad retreat,
+He, turning, look'd a last adieu,
+  And shook the dew-drops from his feet.
+
+His hurried steps nor press'd the ground,
+  Nor pointed out the path he came;
+And, though so long the way he found,
+  Despair buoy'd up his fainting frame.
+
+The sun shot forth a feeble ray,
+  But hid his glorious orb from sight,
+And the pale evening's modest grey,
+  Had soften'd the too-glaring light,
+
+When Alwin reach'd the humble cot,
+  That once he did with Emma share,
+And, weeping, hail'd the well-known spot,
+  In vain, for Emma was not there.
+
+Repuls'd, he turn'd his languid eye,
+  Where Ranulph's lofty turrets rose;
+And, heaving disappointment's sigh,
+  He sought the mansion of his foes.
+
+His faltering step, when there he came,
+  A proud, disdainful air possest;
+Memory recall'd his former shame,
+  And indignation fill'd his breast.
+
+He enter'd, in his wild attire,
+  With hasty pace and haggard brow,
+Scorn fill'd his azure eye with fire,
+  And gave his cheeks a deeper glow.
+
+A graceful knight who met his view,
+  Sat pleading by a lady's side;
+And Alwin's jealous bosom knew
+  Lord Percy, and his fated bride.
+
+Mistaken youth! thy eyes have seen,
+  The persons pictur'd in thy mind;
+But who is that, with pensive mien,
+  And forehead on her hand reclin'd?
+
+O'er whom Lord Ranulph fondly bends,
+  With sorrow seated on his brow;
+While the regretting tear descends
+  O'er his pale cheek, in silent woe.
+
+"Ah! is it thus?" sad Alwin said,
+  The fancied bride the accents knew,
+Lord Percy rais'd his drooping head,
+  And lovely Emma met his view.
+
+Then rapture and surprize prevail'd,
+  Each bosom felt confus'd delight;
+While his return the mourner hail'd,
+  And thus his sorrows did requite.
+
+"O, dearest Alwin, now no more
+  My father disapproves our flame;
+No longer we thy loss deplore,
+  Or tremble to pronounce thy name.
+
+"A noble friend has gain'd our cause,
+  And vanquish'd all his former hate;
+Who, ere he own'd a lover's laws,
+  With generous tears had wept thy fate."
+
+"Yes, injur'd youth," Lord Ranulph cried,
+  "Thou art this day my chosen heir;
+In Adelaide behold thy bride,
+  Thy sister's future husband, there.
+
+"Lord Percy, to a candid mind,
+  Unites a fervour like thy own;
+And Emma, not to merit blind,
+  Refers his cause to thee alone.
+
+"If thou wilt grant his fond desire,
+  'Twill gain a brave, a noble friend;
+And the possessions of thy sire,
+  To his posterity descend."
+
+"And did my Emma stay to hear,
+  Her brother sanctify her choice?
+Ah Percy! now you need not fear
+  From Alwin, a dissenting voice.
+
+"Blest in my love, in Emma blest,
+  My heart each cherish'd wish obtains;
+Northumbrians, now no more opprest,
+  Shall own a son of Herbert reigns.
+
+"May ye rebuild the peasant's cot,
+  Exalt the woe-depressed head,
+And o'er each desolated spot,
+  The fostering calm of quiet spread!
+
+"May sterne reserve and caution cease!
+  With lenient hand dispense your sway;
+Give them the healing balm of peace,
+  Their wounded spirits will obey.
+
+"Ah! cheer their gloom! dispel their care!
+  The smile will soon replace the tear;
+And, wedded to a Saxon fair,
+  The foreign lord no more appear."
+
+1794.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 10: "Wreathing his arms in this sad knot."--SHAKESPERE'S
+TEMPEST.]
+
+[Footnote 11: Lord of Cumberland.]
+
+
+
+
+INVITATION,
+
+To J.B.C.
+
+
+Now spring appears, with beauty crown'd,
+And all is light and life around,
+Why comes not Jane? When friendship calls,
+Why leaves she not Augusta's walls?
+Where cooling zephyrs faintly blow,
+Nor spread the cheering, healthful glow.
+That glides through each awaken'd vein,
+As skimming o'er the spacious plain,
+We look around with joyous eye,
+And view no boundaries but the sky.
+
+Already April's reign is o'er,
+Her evening tints delight no more;
+No more the violet scents the gale,
+No more the mist o'erspreads the vale;
+The lovely queen of smiles and tears,
+Who gave thee birth, no more appears;
+But blushing May, with brow serene,
+And vestments of a livelier green,
+Commands the winged choir to sing,
+And with wild notes the meadows ring.
+
+O come! ere all the train is gone,
+No more to hail thy twenty-one;
+That age which higher honor shares,
+And well becomes the wreath it wears.
+From lassitude and cities flee,
+And breathe the air of heav'n, with me.
+
+
+MAY 5, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN ON
+
+WHITSUN-MONDAY,
+
+1795.
+
+
+At an open window sitting,
+  On this day of mirth and glee,
+'Cross a flow'ry vista flitting,
+  Many passing forms I see.
+Ah! lovely prospect, stay awhile!
+  And longer glad my doating eye,
+With poverty's delighted smile,
+  And lighten'd step, as passing by;
+
+With labour's spruce and ruddy train,
+  Deck'd out in all their best array,
+Who, months of toil and care disdain,
+  Paid by the pleasures of a day.
+The village girl still let me view,
+  Hast'ning to the neighb'ring fair;
+Her cap adorn'd with pink or blue,
+  And nicely smooth her glossy hair.
+
+With sparkling eye and smiling face,
+  Ting'd o'er with beauty's warmest glow;
+With timid air, and Rumble grace,
+  With clear and undepressed brow.
+Go! lovely girl, and share the day,
+  To thy industrious merit due;
+There join the dance, or choral lay;
+  Thou blooming, village rose, adieu!
+
+And thou, O youth, so blythe and free,
+  Bounding swiftly o'er the plain,
+Go, taste the joys of liberty,
+  And cheer thy spirit, happy swain!
+How different to the lonely hour,
+  When slowly following the plough,
+Self-buoyant joy forgets the pow'r,
+  Which warms thy gladden'd bosom now.
+
+If some rural prize desiring,
+  Or ambitious of applause,
+Loud huzzas thy wishes firing,
+  Thy steady hand the furrow draws;
+Ne'er a victor fam'd in story,
+  Greater praise and reverence drew,
+Than thou, attir'd in humble glory,
+  So, guiltless conqueror, adieu!
+
+Oh, here a charming group appears!
+  A cottage family, so gay,
+Whose youthful hopes, uncheck'd by fears,
+  In smiles of thoughtless rapture play.
+Here, borne in fond, parental arms,
+  The infant's roving eye we view;
+Boasting a thousand, thousand charms,
+  Endearing innocents, adieu!
+
+They go! no more with beating heart,
+  And lively, dancing step to tread;
+Unwillingly will they depart,
+  To seek again their homely shed.
+Ah! Eve, I love thy veil of grey,
+  Which will conceal them from my view,
+For, bending home their weary way,
+  How sad would be our last adieu!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The following was suggested by reading a whimsical description, given
+by Scarron, of the deformity of his person, contrasted with its former
+elegance, in the Curiosities of Literature, vol. 2, page 247_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PHILEMON.
+
+
+Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace,
+  Which can delight the eye, or please the ear,
+Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face,
+  Awhile the councils of Philemon hear!
+
+Let not pride lift the thoughtless head too high,
+  Temerity arch o'er the scornful brow,
+Contemptuous glances arm the sparkling eye,
+  Or the high heart with self-complacence glow!
+
+Alas! full soon the eve of life arrives,
+  Though pale Disease's train approach not nigh;
+Short is the summer of the happiest lives,
+  If no rude storm disturbs the smiling sky.
+
+This wretched body, bending to the earth,
+  Once, on the wings of health, alert and gay,
+Shone forth the foremost in the train of mirth,
+  And cloudless skies announc'd a beauteous day.
+
+My parents oft, with fond complacence view'd,
+  The elegance of my external form;
+And thought my mind with excellence endued,
+  Bright as my genius, as my fancy warm.
+
+There was a time, poor as I now appear,
+  I admiration met in every look;
+And, harsh as now my words may grate your ear,
+  Each tongue was silent when Philemon spoke.
+
+Once could this voice make every bosom thrill,
+  As it pour'd forth the light or plaintive lay;
+And once these fingers, with superior skill,
+  Upon the lute could eloquently play.
+
+By partial friendship sooth'd, by flattery fann'd,
+  I learnt with conscious grace the dance to lead,
+To guide the Phaeton with careless hand,
+  And rule, with flowing rein, the prancing steed.
+
+Sick with the glory of a trifler's fame,
+  By folly nurtur'd, I was proud and vain;
+Till Chastisement in kindest mercy came,
+  Though then her just decrees I dar'd arraign.
+
+The form that sought so late the public view,
+  That glow'd with transport, as the world admir'd,
+Fill'd with false shame, from every eye withdrew,
+  And to the shades of solitude retir'd.
+
+Consum'd by fevers, spiritless, forlorn,
+  Blasted by apoplexy's dreadful rage,
+My bleeding heart by keen remembrance torn,
+  I past my prime in premature old age.
+
+I heard my parent's ill-suppressed sighs,
+  And wish'd myself upon the peaceful bier;
+I saw the anguish of their sleepless eyes,
+  The smile dissembled, and the secret tear.
+
+Oft, with a kind of gratifying woe,
+  I recollected every former charm,
+And, with the spleen of a malicious foe,
+  Delighted still to keep my sorrows warm.
+
+"Where is the lustre of the gladsome eye,
+  The airy smile, the animated mien,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+  So lately envied, now no longer seen.
+
+"I too have gloried in my waving hair,
+  No ringlets now remain to raise my pride;
+Nor can I now lay the white forehead bare,
+  And push the too luxuriant locks aside."
+
+Thus, like a child, I sigh'd for pleasures past,
+  And lost my hours in a delusive dream;
+But Reason op'd my blinded eyes at last,
+  And clear'd each mist by her refulgent beam.
+
+I saw futurity before me spread,
+  A scourge or sceptre offer'd to my view,
+Alarm'd, from Folly's erring mazes fled,
+  And to my God with humble rev'rence drew.
+
+I bow'd, submissive, at the holy shrine,
+  His mercy with warm gratitude confest,
+Which had reveal'd the spark of life divine,
+  That slumber'd in my earth-enamoured breast.
+
+Had I, as friendship and self-love desir'd,
+  Still suck'd delirium at the fane of praise,
+I might, my conscience lull'd and passions fir'd,
+  Have lost my soul in the bewitching blaze.
+
+Dear rising train, let not my words offend!
+  Nor the pure dictates of my love despise;
+To one, late like yourselves, attention lend,
+  And, taught by his experience, be wise!
+
+Ah! banish from your eye the fiend Disdain;
+  Let fair simplicity supply its place;
+Nor longer let conceit the bosom stain;
+  The child of weakness, follow'd by disgrace.
+
+Should time from you each glowing beauty wrest,
+  You will not then those self-reproaches feel,
+Which every eye awaken'd in my breast,
+  And twenty winters scarce suffic'd to heel.
+
+Nor will your friends observe each faded charm,
+  Since still your countenance its smile retains,
+And the same lov'd companion, kind and warm,
+  With unassuming manners, yet remains.
+
+
+SEPT. 8, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+ON A FAN.
+
+
+Now I've painted these flowers, say what can I do,
+To render them worthy acceptance from you?
+I know of no sybil, whose wonderful art
+Could to them superior virtues impart,
+Who, of magical influence wonders could tell,
+And, who over each blossom could mutter a spell.
+
+You only the humbler enchantments can prove,
+That arise from esteem, from respect, and from love;
+With such I assail you, and pow'rful the charm,
+When applied to a heart sympathetic and warm;
+To a heart such as that, which, if right I divine,
+O C--ll--n--n! dwells in that bosom of thine.
+
+NOV. 10, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+TO SIMPLICITY.
+
+
+Fair village nymph, ah! may I meet
+  Thy pleasing form where'er I stray!
+With open air and converse sweet,
+  Still cheer my undiscover'd way!
+
+With eyes, that shew the placid mind,
+  And with no feign'd emotions roll;
+With mien, that sprightly or resign'd,
+  Bespeaks the temper of the soul.
+
+With smiles, where not the lips alone
+  Receive a brighter, vermil hue,
+The cheek does warmer roses own,
+  And the eyes beam, a deeper blue!
+
+Though Fashion's minions scorn thy pow'r,
+  And slight thee, 'cause in russet drest,
+Yet Joy frequents thy peaceful bow'r,
+  And sorrow flies to thee for rest.
+
+The echoing laugh, the rapturous tear,
+  The smile of friendship, gay and free,
+Delight but when they are sincere,
+  And given, lovely nymph, by thee.
+
+When my Rosina reads a tale,
+  Though sweet the tuneful accents flow,
+No studied pathos does prevail
+  To bid the hearer's bosom glow;
+
+Her voice to sympathy resign'd,
+  Each different feeling can impart.
+And, tell me not, we e'er can find
+  A modulator, like the heart!
+
+And Mary's locks of glossy brown,
+  That fall in waves, with graceful swell,
+In ever-varying ringlets thrown,
+  The fairest curls of art excel.
+
+Still rob'd in innocence and ease,
+  Daughter of Truth, shall thou prevail,
+When Affectation cannot please,
+  And all the spells of Fashion fail.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1795.
+
+
+
+
+THE TERRORS OF GUILT.
+
+
+Yon coward, with the streaming hair,
+And visage, madden'd to despair,
+With step convuls'd, unsettled eye,
+And bosom lab'ring with a sigh,
+Is _Guilt!_--Behold, he hears the name,
+And starts with horror, fear, and shame!
+
+See! slow Suspicion by his side,
+  With winking, microscopic eye!
+And Mystery, his muffled guide,
+  With fearful speech, and head awry.
+
+See! scowling Malice there attend,
+Bold Falsehood, an apparent friend;
+Avarice, repining o'er his pelf,
+Mean Cunning, lover of himself;
+Hatred, the son of conscious Fear,
+Impatient Envy, with a fiend-like sneer,
+And shades of blasted Hopes, which still are hovering near!
+
+All other woes will find relief,
+And time alleviate every grief;
+Memory, though slowly, will decay,
+And Sorrow's empire pass away.
+Awhile Misfortune may controul,
+And Fain oppress the virtuous soul,
+Yet Innocence can still beguile
+The patient sufferer of a smile,
+The beams of Hope may still dispense
+A grateful feeling to the sense;
+Friendship may cast her arms around,
+And with fond tears embalm the wound,
+Or Piety's soft incense rise,
+And waft reflection to the skies;
+But those fell pangs which he endures,
+Nor Time forgets, nor Kindness cures;
+Like Ocean's waves, they still return,
+Like Etna's fires, forever burn.
+
+Hound him no genial zephyrs fly,
+No fair horizon glads his eye,
+No joys to him does Nature yield,
+The solemn grove, or laughing field;
+Though both with loud rejoicings ring,
+No pleasure does the echo bring,
+Not bubbling waters as they roll,
+Can tranquillize his bursting soul,
+For Conscience still, with tingling smart,
+Asserts his empire o'er his heart,
+And even when his eye-lids close,
+With clamourous scream affrights repose.
+
+Oppress'd with light, he seeks to shun
+The splendid glories of the sun;
+The busy crowds that hover near,
+Torment his eye, distract his ear;
+He hastens to the secret shades,
+Where not a ray the gloom pervades;
+Where Contemplation may retreat,
+And Silence take his mossy seat;
+Yet even there no peace he knows,
+His fev'rish blood, no calmer flows;
+Some hid assassins 'vengeful knife,
+Is rais'd to end his wretched life.
+He shudders, starts, and stares around,
+With breathless fright, to catch the fancied sound;
+Seeks for the dagger in his breast,
+And gripes it 'neath his ruffled vest.
+
+Lo! now he plunges in the flood,
+To cleanse his garments, stain'd with blood,
+His sanguine arm, in terror, laves;
+But ah! its hue defies the waves.
+Deprest, bewildered, thence he flies,
+And, to avoid Detection, tries,
+Who, frowning, still before him stands,
+The sword of Justice in her hands;
+Abhorrent Scorn, unpitying Shame,
+And Punishments without a name,
+Still on her sounding steps attend,
+And every added horror lend.
+He turns away, with dread and fear,
+But the fell spectres still are near.
+Though Falsehood's mazes see him wind!
+Yet Infamy is close behind,
+Lifting her horn, with horrors fraught,
+Whose hideous yell is frenzy to the thought.
+
+Now, maniac-like, he comes again,
+And mixes with the jocund train;
+But still those eyes that wildly roll,
+Bespeak the tempest in his soul.
+In yon deep cave he strives to rest,
+But Mem'ry harrows up his breast;
+He clasps the goblet, foe to Care,
+And lo! Distraction hovers there.
+
+Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to know,
+The sad varieties of woe;
+Where'er thy footsteps turn, to meet,
+An earthquake yawning at thy feet,
+While o'er thy head pale meteors glare,
+And boding tempests fill the air,
+In throbbing anguish doom'd to roam,
+Yet never find a peaceful home.
+Haste! to the shrine of Mercy hie,
+There lift the penitential eye,
+With breaking heart thy sins deplore,
+And wound Integrity no more!
+Repentance then thy soul shall save,
+And snatch thee, ransom'd, from the grave.
+
+JULY 1796.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The death of Selred, last King of the East-Saxons, reduced that part
+of the Heptarchy to dependance on Mercia. The rest is imaginary_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CEN'LIN, PRINCE OF MERCIA.
+
+
+When Britain many chiefs obey'd,
+And seven Saxon princes sway'd,
+The Mercian monarch, fam'd afar,
+In peace respected, fear'd in war,
+Favour'd by heav'n above the rest,
+In his brave son was fully blest;
+For none like Cen'lin did arise,
+So virtuous, elegant, and wise.
+
+Of partial Mercian eyes the joy,
+His parents idoliz'd the boy;
+Saw with just pride each op'ning grace,
+His charms of mind, of form, and face.
+And as he oft, with modest air,
+His thoughts and feelings did declare,
+His father would delighted hear,
+Would fondly drop the grateful tear;
+And proudly cast his eyes around,
+But not an equal could be found.
+Warm from each lip applauses broke,
+And every tongue his praises spoke;
+The list'ning courtiers spread his fame,
+And blessings follow'd Cen'lins name.
+
+Now twenty summer's suns had flown,
+And Mercia's hopes were fully blown;
+When ah! conceal'd in coarse disguise,
+To Selred's[12] court their darling flies.
+Selred, his father's scorn and hate,
+Became the ruler of his fate.
+There flatter'd, lov'd, the youth remain'd,
+Till Cenulph's threats his heir regain'd.
+But ah! no more the son of mirth,
+His pensive eye now sought the earth;
+No more within the dance to move,
+Or list to sages, did he love;
+But from surrounding friends would fly,
+To pour in solitude the sigh.
+And soon again the youth withdrew,
+Again to th' Eastern-Saxons flew.
+His father heard, opprest with woe,
+His aged heart forgot to glow;
+He learnt his foes an army led,
+With youthful Cen'lin at their head,
+He call'd his warriors forth to meet,
+And stretch the rebel at hit feet:
+Tears from his eyes in anguish broke,
+As thus the aged monarch spoke:
+
+"Ye Mercians, let your banners fly!
+The graceless youth this day shall die!
+For, since he dares an army bring
+Against his father and his king,
+Though dear as life, I will not spare,
+Nor listen to affection's pray'r!
+If all my people should implore,
+I'll pardon the rash boy no more!
+His harden'd heart, to duty blind,
+No ties of gratitude can bind;
+This hoary head would else have rest,
+And pleasure warm this aching breast.
+Ah, cruel youth! thy wrongs I feel,
+More deep than wounds of pointed steel.
+For, if forlorn the parent's doom,
+Who bears his offspring to the tomb,
+Some comfort still his breast may know,
+Some soothing thought may calm his woe,
+And when he gives a loose to pain,
+He feels not that he mourns in vain,
+But fancies still his darling nigh,
+And grateful for each bursting sigh,
+Still bending o'er, with list'ning ear,
+Each weeping, fond complaint to hear,
+The dear-lov'd phantom hovers round,
+And pours a balm in every wound.
+
+"How doubly poignant is my smart,
+Bereaved of my Cen'lin's heart!
+Exil'd from that deluded breast,
+Where I had fondly hop'd to rest,
+With faith undoubting, sweet repose,
+Till Death should bid my eye-lids close.
+And sometimes yet will hope arise;
+Till now he ever scorn'd disguise;
+Some cursed fiend might taint his youth,
+And warp a temper form'd for truth.
+When late he humbly knelt for grace,
+And clasp'd my knees in close embrace,
+Upon his lips a secret hung,
+But something seem'd to stay his tongue;
+I prest not, for my anger slept,
+And fondness only saw he wept;
+Ah! fatal haste! then had I known
+The serpent, I had sav'd my son!
+Yet surely pardon frank as mine,
+A noble heart would more confine!
+When leaguing with my bitter foe,
+To strike some grand, decisive blow;
+Perhaps to rob me of my throne,
+And make it, ere the time, his own;
+Or, should wan guilt a danger dread,
+To humble this devoted head,
+Each throbbing pang of conscience drown,
+And seize, with bloody hands, the crown.
+O'er this offence I cast a veil,
+And fondly hush'd the whisper'd tale.
+Ah fool! deluded by the grace,
+Of that fine form, and perfect face;
+I thought his bosom free from sin,
+Nor dreamt a demon lurk'd within.
+His voice, which ever could controul,
+Each passion of the hearer's soul,
+With ease my partial heart beguil'd,
+Who knew no sorrows when he smil'd.
+And ah! my friends, your downcast eyes,
+Your pensive air, and smother'd sighs,
+All tell me you lament the fate,
+Of him, whom yet you cannot hate.
+And shall I bear then to behold,
+That form inanimate and cold,
+His smiling lips depriv'd of breath,
+His eyes for ever clos'd in death!
+Ah no! my heart with anguish swells,
+And every throbbing vein rebels.
+Let sorrow weep, or anger thrill,
+Yet all the parent triumphs still.
+
+"Oh Father! who in mercy reigns,
+If thy all-ruling will ordains,
+That my unhappy Cen'lin dies,
+Remove the picture from my eyes!
+At the same moment set us free,
+Both rebel sons, my God, to thee!"
+Thus did the king pour forth his pray'r,
+With all the wildness of despair;
+Then, stilling every rising sigh,
+He calm'd the anguish of his eye,
+And though within the burthen lay,
+He wip'd the falling tears away.
+
+When lo! there comes a youthful train,
+Descending swiftly to the plain,
+Drest like the fairest sons of day,
+In floating robes and colours gay;
+No crested helmets there appear,
+No glittering shield or pointed spear,
+But youths with honey-suckles crown'd,
+Or their fair locks with fillets bound,
+Whose circling ranks and varied dyes,
+Shew'd like the bow, that gilds the skies.
+Whilst in the van a pair were seen,
+Of peerless charms and graceful mien;
+One lovely form the Mercians knew,
+And gladden'd at the pleasing view,
+Who, with the glow of youthful prime,
+Had all the majesty of time.
+And beauteous was the fair he led,
+As any fabled Grecian maid;
+The nymphs who tend Aurora's car,
+And usher in the morning star,
+Though made inhabitants of air,
+Were not more elegant and fair;
+Nor Dian's ever-healthful train,
+When skimming o'er the spacious plain.
+Had not more pure, more lively dyes,
+Or brighter lustre in their eyes.
+
+The king, so late by woe deprest,
+Felt hope reanimate his breast,
+And as his Cen'lin nearer drew,
+His waking hopes more vivid grew.
+"My friends," he cried, "will you believe,
+That open mien can e'er deceive?
+That blooming, form can e'er unfold,
+A heart ungenerous and cold,
+That melting softness of the eye,
+Can harbour direst cruelty?
+Ah no! a poison's baleful pow'r,
+Lurks not beneath so fair a flow'r.
+Nor are those youths with amber hair,
+Such as fell treason would prepare,
+An aged monarch to dethrone,
+And hear, unmov'd, a father's groan.
+Gay are their looks, no dark disguise,
+Dims the mild radiance of their eyes;
+No murderous thoughts their souls employ,
+But, heralds of transporting joy,
+They come to bid suspicion cease,
+And sooth my sorrow into peace."
+Caution could scarce awhile controul
+The strong delights of Cenulph's soul,
+When Cen'lin knelt, and by his side
+Half-kneeling, bent his lovely bride.
+But, when he first essay'd to speak,
+A hasty blush pass'd o'er his cheek,
+He hung awhile his graceful head,
+Till thus, with air confus'd he said:
+"I come, by love with honours crown'd,
+Yet sorrow casts a shade around,
+That when my consort here I bring,
+The heiress of a potent king,
+The Mercians, clad in armour, come,
+To lead their princess to her home.
+No joyful hail our nuptial greets,
+No proof of love my Ela meets,
+But scarlet banners, waving high,
+The bridal knot and wreath supply.
+Alas! I see mistrust has won
+E'en Cenulph's fondness from his son;
+Or could my ever-honour'd sire,
+A proof of Cen'lin's faith require?
+Can force so needful now appear,
+To aid a pow'r which I revere?
+When eager beauty's form to view,
+I first to Selred's court withdrew,
+A single wish thy pow'r maintain'd,
+A single wish thy son regain'd.
+I left the maid whose matchless charms,
+Each rooted prejudice disarms,
+Who rul'd my heart with sovereign sway,
+And taught a Mercian to obey
+Laws that East-Saxons can impart,
+When wit and beauty string the dart;
+Left her when hope my doubts beguil'd,
+And on our love her father smil'd.
+Oft have I tried to win thine ear,
+The fond, romantic tale to hear,
+But when I found a lonely hour,
+My coward soul has lost the pow'r;
+As on my lips the accents hung,
+Thy hate to Selred check'd my tongue.
+Yet flattering hopes my passion fed,
+And from thy court again I fled;
+I thought when you my fair beheld,
+And knew how greatly she excell'd,
+In every charm, each art refin'd,
+And virtue of the female mind,
+Thy judgment would approve my choice,
+And bless it with a cheerful voice.
+And ah! though fortune did combine
+With love, in making Ela mine,
+I cannot from a grief refrain,
+Remembering that I gave thee pain.
+Yet if thy Cen'lin e'er could please,
+If e'er my cares could give thee ease,
+Let mild affection now arise,
+And beam forgiveness from thine eyes!
+No more thy son shall make thee know
+A pain, or give thee cause of woe.
+No nights the Mercians have to fear,
+For all I love is center'd here,"
+He spoke, and o'er his father's soul,
+A stream of healing comfort stole;
+He rose, with slow, majestic grace,
+Tears of delight adorn'd his face,
+His pious heart with rapture glow'd,
+And joy a second youth bestow'd.
+
+"To meet thee thus, my son," he cried,
+"This peerless maiden for your bride,
+Bids each distressing thought depart,
+And joy again possess my heart.
+Fair princess, thine the happy fate,
+To heal the wounds of mutual hate;
+No longer shall this bosom know,
+An Eastern-Saxon as my foe;
+And she, who bids that passion rest,
+Doubt not, shall be supremely blest;
+The part is holy and benign,
+Befitting such a form as thine.
+This day, far dearer than before,
+Kind heav'n does twice my son restore,
+For by those speaking looks I see,
+Another valued child in thee."
+
+As then he raised them to his breast,
+Around the joyful Mercians prest,
+And made their shouts of triumph rise,
+To the fair concave of the skies.
+
+OCTOBER 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 12: King of the East-Saxons.]
+
+
+
+
+RHAPSODY.
+
+
+Lo! here a cloud comes sailing, richly clad
+In royal purple, which the parting beams
+Of bounteous Phoebus edge with tints of gold
+And lucid crimson. One might fancy it
+A noble bird, that laves its graceful form,
+And bathes its rosy bosom in the light.
+Look! how it swells and rears its snowy crest
+With haughty grandeur; while the blue expanse,
+In smiling patience lets the boaster pass,
+And swell his train with all the lazy vapours
+That hover in the air: an easy prey
+To the gigantic phantom, whose curl'd wing,
+Sweeps in these worthless triflers of the sky,
+And wraps them in his bosom. Go, vain shadow!
+Sick with the burthen of thy fancied greatness,
+A breath of zephyr wafts thee into nothing,
+Scatters thy spreading plumes, uncrowns thy front,
+And drives thee downward to thy mother earth,
+To mix with vapour and dissolve in dew.
+
+Such are the dreams of hope, which to the eye
+Of youthful inexperience, seem to touch
+The pure, unclouded sky of certainty.
+Buoy'd up by the fond eloquence of thought,
+And nurtur'd by the smile of vanity,
+Each hour the air-born vision gathers bulk,
+And Fancy decks it with a thousand hues,
+Varied and wild, till it abounds in charms
+Which sink the soul to sadness, when the breath
+Of gentle Reason breaks the beauteous bubble,
+And leaves us nought but vain regret behind.
+
+
+FEBRUARY 1, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN.
+
+
+When clouds and rain deform the sky,
+  And light'nings glare around,
+Amidst the dreary, cheerless scene,
+  Some comfort may be found.
+
+There will, at some far-distant spot,
+  A streak of light appear,
+Or, when the sullen vapours break,
+  The ether will be clear.
+
+And if the sun illumes the east,
+  And sheds his gladsome ray,
+Some boding mist, or passing cloud
+  Will threat the rising day.
+
+The heart rejoicing in the view,
+  And dancing with delight,
+Oft feels the touch of palsied fear,
+  And sinks at thought of night.
+
+So Hope's bright torch more clearly shines,
+  Amidst surrounding gloom,
+And, beldame Fortune vainly throws
+  Her mantle o'er the tomb.
+
+
+MARCH 15,1797.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPLAINT OF FANCY.
+
+To A.R.C.
+
+
+As, musing, late I sat reclin'd,
+And waking dreams absorb'd my mind,
+A damsel came, of various dyes,
+Like painted Iris from the skies;
+A purfled saffron was her vest,
+And sweet gum-cistus form'd her crest;
+In many a playful ring, her hair
+Flew light and flossy in the air;
+The mantle, blue and gold, she wore,
+A rose of opals held before,
+While, graceful in her fairy hand,
+Appear'd a crimson-tufted wand,
+Whose shade on every object threw
+A glowing tint of roseate hue.
+
+"Whence art thou, blooming nymph?" I cried,
+And thus a tuneful voice replied:
+"Men call me Fancy; at my shrine
+Myriads confess my power divine;
+There painters bend the willing knee,
+And laurell'd poets sue to me:
+For mine is every vivid ray,
+Which partial Nature gave the day;
+And, to the music of my song,
+A thousand nameless charms belong.
+
+"The friend of Happiness, I dwell
+Belov'd alike in court or cell;
+Where Glory lifts her ardent eye,
+With hasty, kindred zeal I fly,
+In sun-beams place the hero's form,
+And bid his arm command the storm;
+On swelling clouds an altar raise,
+And fan the tow'ring flame of praise.
+
+"Oft, from the lorn enthusiast's lyre,
+My fingers strike etherial fire,
+And give to sounds of piercing woe,
+Extatic rapture's fervent glow.
+Oft sooth the maniac's throbbing vein,
+And grace her simple, wilder'd strain;
+The tribe of Pain in fetters keep,
+Lull wounded Memory to sleep,
+And, in the mind of gloomy Care,
+Bid Thought an angel's semblance wear.
+
+"Dear to each blest aerial pow'r,
+E'en Wisdom calls me to her bow'r;
+My songs her leisure hours beguile,
+And teach her holy lip to smile.
+And, when the Muse, with thoughtful care,
+Has woven chaplets for her hair,
+I let her, with her myrtles, twine,
+Full many a fragrant rose of mine.
+
+"Then why, since all the wise and gay,
+To me a grateful homage pay,
+Since I to all my hand extend,
+And, liberal, every heart befriend,
+Does Nancy from the croud retire,
+And rend my blossoms from her lyre?
+Though every string the loss bewail,
+And tones of mellow sweetness fail,
+Which us'd to charm the pensive ear,
+When list'ning Friendship bent to hear.
+
+"Tell her I wish not to intrude
+Upon her sacred solitude,
+Nor cast my undulating chain,
+Around her glowing heart again;
+No! every claim I now resign,
+Yet let some small regard be mine;
+Let one, who nurs'd her infant years,
+And wip'd away some bitter tears,
+Still animate the scenes around,
+And make her tread on fairy ground;
+Give playful sweetness to each lay,
+And decorate the passing day.
+
+"Tell her, if now she scorns my strain,
+She may invoke my name in vain;
+In vain my proffered aid implore,
+Contemn'd, I hardly pardon more."
+
+She said, and springing from the earth,
+Attending found her suitor Mirth,
+Who caught her hand, with lively air,
+And plac'd her in his silver chair,
+Which through the yielding ether flew,
+And quickly bore them from my view.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O----
+
+
+Loud beats the rain! The hollow, groan
+  Of rushing winds I hear,
+That with a deep and sullen moan,
+  Pass slowly by the ear.
+
+Soon will my dying fire refuse
+  To yield a cheerful ray,
+Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
+  The latest spark away.
+
+Ah, what a night! the chilly air
+  Bids comfort hence depart,
+While sad repining's clammy wings
+  Cling icy, to my heart.
+
+To-morrow's dawn may fair arise,
+  And lovely to the view;
+The sun with radiance gild the skies,
+  Yet then--I say adieu!
+
+Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
+  And lingering footsteps move,
+Though day may be more soft and fair,
+  Not her, but thee, I love.
+
+Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
+  Stay! and ward off the foe;
+Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
+  Yet tells me I must go.
+
+Forsake these hospitable halls,
+  Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
+To these high towers and ancient walls,
+  Pronounce a long farewell.
+
+Alas! will Time's rapacious hand,
+  These golden days restore?
+Or will he suffer me to taste
+  These golden days no more?
+
+Will he permit that here again,
+  I turn my willing feet?
+That my glad eyes may here again,
+  The look of kindness meet?
+
+That here I ever may behold,
+  Felicity to dwell,
+And often have the painful task
+  Of sighing out farewell?
+
+Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
+  By hope's sweet visions fed;
+And as I fly to seek repose,
+  She flutters round my bed.
+
+
+NOV. 17, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Thou, Margaret, lov'st the secret shade,
+  The murmuring brook, or tow'ring tree;
+The village cot within the glade,
+  And lonely walk have charms for thee.
+
+To thee more dear the jasmine bow'r,
+  That shelt'ring, undisturb'd retreat,
+Than the high canopy of pow'r,
+  Or Luxury's embroider'd seat.
+
+More sweet the early morning breeze,
+  Whose odours fill the rural vale,
+The waving bosom of the seas,
+  When ruffled by the rising gale.
+
+Than all which pride or pomp bestow,
+  To grace the lofty Indian maid,
+Who prizes more the diamond's glow,
+  Than all in humbler vest array'd.
+
+Sweet is the rural festive song,
+  Which sounds so wildly o'er the plain,
+When thoughtless mirth the notes prolong,
+  And heart-felt pleasure pours the strain.
+
+Sweet is the dance where light and gay,
+  The village maiden trips along;
+Her simple robe in careless play,
+  As her fleet step winds round the throng.
+
+Sweet is the labourer's blazing fire,
+  When evening shades invite to rest;
+Though weary, home does joy inspire,
+  And social love dilates his breast.
+
+His rural lass with glee prepares,
+  The dainties fondness made her hoard;
+Her husband now the banquet shares,
+  And children croud around the board.
+
+Ah! who could wish to view the air
+  Of listless ease and languid wealth?
+Who with such pleasures could compare
+  The joys of innocence and health?
+
+
+AUGUST 20, 1796.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA. DEL METASTASIO.
+
+
+"D'atre nubi e il sol ravvolto,
+    Luce infausta il Ciel colora.
+    Pur chi sa? Quest' alma ancora
+    La speranza non perde.
+
+Non funesta ogni tempesta
+    Co' naufragj all' onde il seno;
+    Ogni tuono, ogni baleno
+    Sempre un fulmine non e."
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Dark, mournful clouds hang o'er the sun,
+  Lights gleam portentous in the air,
+And yet who knows? This troubled heart
+  Still gives not up to blank despair.
+
+Not big with shipwrecks every storm,
+  That sweeps the bosom of the main,
+Nor does the threatening, turbid sky,
+  Always the thunder-bolt contain.
+
+
+
+
+LA FORTUNA. DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+A chi serena io miro,
+  Chiaro e di notte il cielo:
+  Torna per lui nel gelo
+  La terra a germogliar.
+
+Ma se a taluno io giro
+  Torbido il guardo, e fosco,
+  Fronde gli niega il bosco,
+  Onde non trova in mar.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+To him whom kindly I behold,
+  The midnight sky is clear,
+And 'mid the wintry frost and cold,
+  The blushing flowers appear.
+
+But to the wretch who meets my eye,
+  When kindled by disdain,
+The very grove will leaves deny,
+  And waveless be the main.
+
+
+
+
+CANTATA DELLO STESSO.
+
+
+Finche un zeffiro soave
+  Tien del mar l'ira placata,
+  Ogni nave
+  E fortunata,
+  E felice ogni nocchier;
+
+E ben prova di coraggio
+  Incontrar l'onde funeste,
+  Navigar fra le tempeste,
+  E non perdere il sentier.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Whilst zephyr sooths the angry waves
+  Of Ocean into rest,
+Each vessel is in safety borne,
+  And every pilot blest.
+
+But he indeed demands our praise,
+  Who stems the tempest's force,
+And midst the ire of hostile waves,
+  Pursues his destin'd course.
+
+
+
+
+SONETTO.
+
+DI GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.
+
+
+Oh sonno, oh della cheta, umida, ombrosa
+  Notte placido figlio; oh de' mortali
+  Egri conforto, oblio dolce de' mali,
+  Si gravi, ond' e la vita aspra, e nojosa:
+Soccorri al core omai, che langue, e posa
+  Non have; e queste membra stanche, e frali
+  Solleva: a me ten vola, oh sonno, e l'ali
+  Tue brune sovra me distendi, e posa.
+Ov' e il silenzio, che'l di fugge, e'l lume?
+  E i lievi sogni, che con non secure
+  Vestigia di seguirti han per costume?
+Lasso, che'nvan te chiamo, e queste oscure,
+  E gelide ombre invan lusingo; oh piume
+  D'asprezza colme; oh notti acerbe, e dure!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET, TO SLEEP.
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+Son of the silent, dark, and humid Night,
+  Consoler of the wretched, by whose sway
+The gloomy train of ills are put to flight,
+  That blacken Life's uncertain, tedious day,
+
+O! succour now this restless, pining heart!
+  Give to these feeble, weary limbs repose!
+Fly to me, Sleep! and let thy sombre wings
+  Over my couch their dusky plumes disclose!
+
+O! where is Silence, who avoids the light?
+  Where the wild dreams that flutter in thy train?
+Alas! in vain I call thee, cruel Night!
+  And flatter these insensate shades in vain.
+
+And oh! without thy cheering dews are shed,
+How full of hardships is the downy bed!
+
+
+
+
+EDITHA.
+
+
+Breathing the violet-scented gale,
+  Near to a river's limpid source,
+Which, through a wide-extended vale,
+  Wound slowly on its sleeping course,
+
+Attended by a youthful pair,
+  With rubied lip and roving eye,
+Oft would fair Editha repair,
+  And let her children wander nigh.
+
+There pleas'd behold their footsteps turn,
+  To each new object in their way,
+Their ringlets glittering in the sun,
+  Their faces careless, blythe, and gay.
+
+Once, when they drest their flaxen hair,
+  With flow'rets wild of various hue,
+And with a proud, exulting air,
+  To their delighted parent drew:
+
+"Ah! thus may every day arise!
+  And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!"
+The widow'd mother fondly cries,
+  "Before the youthful blossoms fade.
+
+"My sighs are all dispers'd in air,
+  Resign'd to fate, I weep no more,
+Your welfare now is all my care,
+  Yet am I constant as before.
+
+"The world, because a vermil bloom,
+  Tinges my yet unfading cheek,
+Says I forget my William's tomb,
+  A new and earthly love to seek.
+
+"Because I join the social train,
+  With lip that wears a kindred smile;
+And a gay sonnet's lively strain,
+  Does oft the lonely hour beguile:
+
+"Because no longer now I mourn,
+  With sweeping robes of sable hue;
+No more I clasp the marble urn,
+  Or vainly bid the world adieu.
+
+"Ah! ill my secret soul they know,
+  Where my lost hero still remains,
+Where memory makes my bosom glow,
+  And binds me still in closer chains.
+
+"Whoe'er hath seen my William's form,
+  Heighten'd with every martial grace,
+The ever-varying, unknown charm,
+  Wich beam'd in his expressive face;
+
+"Or heard his fine ideas try,
+  In Fancy's fairy garb to teach,
+While the sweet language of his eye,
+  Excell'd the eloquence of speech,
+
+"Could ne'er suppose my faith would fail,
+  Or aught again this heart enslave;
+That absence would o'er love prevail,
+  Or hope be bounded by the grave.
+
+"Could all but I his merit know?
+  His wit and talents see?
+And is his name by all below
+  Remember'd, but by me?
+
+"No, ne'er will I the memory lose,
+  Though from my sight thy form is flown,
+Of tenderness for other's woes,
+  And noble firmness in thy own.
+
+"No slavish fear thy soul deprest,
+  Of Death, or his attendant train;
+For in thy pure and spotless breast,
+  The fear of heav'n did only reign.
+
+"Thus, when the still-unsated waves
+  Spread o'er thy head their whelming arms,
+When horrid darkness reign'd around,
+  And lightnings flash'd their dire alarms,
+
+[13]"When, wing'd with death, each moment flew,
+  And blood the foaming ocean stain'd,
+Thy courage cool, consistent, true,
+  Its native energy maintain'd.
+
+"And when the fatal moment came,
+  The bullet enter'd in thy side,
+Only thy spirit's beauteous frame,
+  Its prisoner flying, droop'd and died.
+
+"This is it that consoles my mind,
+  Which to my love aspiring flies,
+And makes me hope, in future days,
+  To hail my William in the skies.
+
+"Should tears from my pale eyelids steal,
+  I teach my children's how to flow,
+And make their little bosoms feel,
+  Before their time, the touch, of woe.
+
+"I will not weep! the world shall see
+  That I a nobler tribute pay;
+More grateful both to heaven and thee,
+  By guiding them in virtue's way."
+
+Embracing then her fondest cares,
+  She cast her raptur'd eyes above,
+And breath'd to heav'n emphatic pray'rs,
+  Of mingled reverence and love.
+
+APRIL 15, 1795.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote 13: I know not if I have expressed myself with much clearness
+here, but I meant to describe a sea-fight as concisely as possible.]
+
+
+
+
+TO M.I.
+
+
+Light breezes dance along the air,
+  The sky in smiles is drest,
+And heav'ns pure vault, serene and fair,
+  Pourtrays the cheerful breast.
+
+Each object on this moving ball
+  Assumes a lovely hue;
+So fair good-humour brightens all
+  That comes within her view.
+
+Her presence glads the youthful train,
+  Reanimates the gay,
+And, round her, by the couch of pain,
+  The light-wing'd graces play.
+
+Her winning mein and prompt reply,
+  Can sullen pride appease;
+And the sweet arching of her eye
+  E'en apathy must please.
+
+To you, with whom the damsel dwells
+  A voluntary guest,
+To you, Maria, memory tells,
+  This tribute is addrest.
+
+The feeble strains that I bequeath,
+  With melody o'erpay;
+And let thy lov'd piano breathe
+  A sweet responsive lay.
+
+Although the mellow sounds will rise,
+  So distant from my ear,
+The charmer Fancy, when she tries,
+  Can make them present here.
+
+Can paint thee, as with raptur'd bend,
+  You hail the powers of song;
+When the light fingers quick descend,
+  And fly the notes along:
+
+Feel the soft chord of sadness meet,
+  An echo in the soul,
+And waking joy the strains repeat,
+  When Mirth's-quick measures roll.
+
+This "mistress of the powerful spell,"
+  Can every joy impart;
+And ah! you doubtless know too well
+  How she can wring the heart.
+
+She rules me with despotic reign,
+  As now I say <I>adieu_;
+And makes me feel a sort of pain,
+  As if I spoke to you.
+
+
+FEB. 14, 1797.
+
+
+
+
+WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMANN'S SOLITUDE.
+
+
+Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye,
+Shrunk from the mere _spectator's_ careless gaze,
+And, in retirement sought the social smile,
+The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice
+Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes,
+And which sounds far more grateful to the ear,
+Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve,
+Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann!
+Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do,
+With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air,
+And tearful eye, averted from mankind.
+No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears
+The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace;
+The kind Samaritan that heals our woes,
+The nurse of Science, and, of future fame
+The gentle harbinger: her meek abode
+Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart,
+E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance,
+In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love,
+And hopes, with fond security, to pass
+The evening of a long-protracted day,
+Serenely joyful, there.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORY OF MR. AGOSTINO ISOLA,
+
+OF CAMBRIDGE,
+
+Who died on the 5th of June, 1797.
+
+
+Awake, O Gratitude! nor let the tears
+Of selfish Sorrow smother up thy voice,
+When it should speak of a departed friend.
+A tender friend, the first I ever lost!
+For Destiny till now was merciful,
+And though I oft have felt a transient pang,
+For worth unknown, and wept awhile for those,
+Whom long acquaintance only made me love,
+No keen regret laid pining at my heart,
+Nor Memory in the solitary hour,
+Would sting with grief, as when she speaks
+Thy virtue, knowledge, wisdom, gentleness,
+Thy venerable age, and says that I
+Had once the happiness to call thee friend.
+
+Yes! I once bore that title, and my heart
+Thought nobler of itself, that one so good,
+So honor'd, so rever'd, should give it me.
+O _Isola!_ when that glad season comes,
+Which brought redemption to a ruin'd world,
+And, like thee, hides beneath the snow of age,
+A gay, benevolent, and feeling heart,
+I hop'd again to hear thy tongue repeat,
+With youthful warmth and zealous energy,
+Those passages, where Poetry assumes
+An air divine, and wakes th' attentive soul
+To holy rapture! Then you promis'd me
+The luxury to weep o'er Dante's muse,
+And fair Italia's loftier poets hail.
+
+                    I have often heard
+That years would blunt the feelings of the soul,
+And apathy ice the once-glowing heart.
+Injurious prejudice! Dear, guileless friend!
+Thou read'st mankind, but saw not, or forgot
+Their faults and vices; for thy breast was still
+The residence of sweet Simplicity,
+Daughter of letter'd Wisdom, and the friend
+Of Love and Pity. Happy soul, farewell!
+Long shall we mourn thee! longer will it be,
+"Ere we shall look upon thy like again!"
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This humble tribute to the memory of my venerated friend, was written in
+the first impulse of my sorrow for his loss, and though unworthy of his
+virtues, is still a small memorial of my respect for a man, on whose
+tomb might justly be inscribed, as I have seen on an old monument:
+
+
+  "Heven hath his soule.
+  He fruits of Pietie,
+  This Towne his want.
+  Our hearts his Memorie."
+
+
+
+
+TO THE NUNS OF BODNEY.
+
+
+Ye holy women, say! will ye accept
+The passing tribute of a humble friend?
+Stranger indeed to you and to your faith,
+But O! I hope not stranger to the zeal,
+Which warm'd your bosoms in Religion's cause.
+When impious men commanded you to break
+The vow which bound your souls, and which in youth
+Warm Piety's emphatic lips had made.
+Say! will ye suffer me on that rude tomb,
+Where she reposes (whose benignant smile,
+Whose animated, life-inspiring eye,
+And faded form, majestic, still appears
+In Thought's delusive hour) to shed a tear?
+On her, whose sainted look, though seen but once,
+I never can forget, till Time shall wrap
+The veil of Death around me, and make dumb
+The voice of Memory. Ah! "how low she lies!"
+No marble monument to speak her praise,
+And tell the world that here a DILLON rests.
+One, who in beauty's prime forsook the world,
+And, _self-bereav'd_ of all it holds most dear,
+Retir'd, to pass the pilgrimage of life,
+In solemn prayer and peaceful solitude.
+Ah, vain desire! Ambition's scowling eye
+Must see the cloister, as the palace, low,
+And meek-ey'd Quiet quit her last abode,
+Ere he can pause to look upon the wreck,
+And rue the wild impatience of his hand.
+
+Hail! blessed spirit! This rude cypher'd stone.
+On which a sister's pensive eye shall muse
+In sorrow, and another relative
+In sweet, though mournful, recollection, bend,
+Shall call a tear into the stranger's eye
+Whene'er he hears the tale, yet make him proud
+That Britain's hospitable land should yield
+All that you could accept, _an humble grave_.
+
+
+
+
+_Written in London, on the 19th of March, 1796._
+
+
+A lov'd companion, chosen friend,
+  Does at this hour depart,
+Whom the dear name of father binds
+  Still closer to my heart.
+
+On him may joy-dispensing heav'n
+  Each calm delight bestow,
+And eas'd of peace-destroying care
+  His life serenely flow!
+
+Did I but know his bosom calm,
+  And free from anxious fear,
+Around me in more cheerful hues
+  Would every scene appear.
+
+And I will hope that he, who ne'er
+  Repin'd at heav'n's decree,
+But ever patient and resign'd,
+  Submissive bent the knee:
+
+Who, best of fathers, never sought
+  For arbitrary sway,
+But free within each youthful mind,
+  Bade Reason lead the way.
+
+Who taught us, 'stead of servile fear,
+  A warm esteem to prove,
+And bade each act of duty spring,
+  From gratitude and love.
+
+Yes, I must hope that generous mind
+  With many cares opprest,
+Shall in the winter of his days
+  With sweet repose be blest.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_A friend, a year or two ago, gave me_ Joseph's Reconciliation with
+his Brethren, _as a subject to write upon; but I was afraid of not
+treating it in such a manner as a sacred story deserved, and gave up
+the attempt, when I had written little more than the following lines,
+to account for their not knowing him, although he well remembered them;
+and am persuaded to let them appear here_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They, ere he left them, had attain'd their prime
+And were less alter'd by the hand of Time;
+But, the slim youth no longer met their view,
+Fair, as the fancy e'er a seraph drew.
+Who still, upborne by joy, in smiles was found,
+With step elate that scarcely press'd the ground.
+Before a grief had raz'd his youthful breast,
+Or care had robb'd his brilliant eyes of rest.
+When lofty visions swam before his sight,
+And dreams of empire wrapt his soul at night.
+Whose hair luxuriant flow'd in glossy pride,
+And, from his snowy forehead, wav'd aside;
+Which, vein'd with purest azure, rose serene,
+And threw complacence o'er a rapturous mien.
+The wandering light that sparkled in his eye,
+The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye,
+The speaking form, by each emotion sway'd,
+The voice, that softest music had convey'd,
+Were now matur'd. No more the child they saw,
+But one, with majesty, inspiring awe;
+Whose silken locks no more in ringlets flow,
+But gold and purple bind his manly brow:
+No more the envied robe his limbs invest,
+In all the pomp of eastern monarchs drest.
+The sun of Egypt had embrown'd his face,
+And time had ripen'd every youthful grace.
+
+As when the morn, in vivid colours gay,
+And tender beauty, flies to meet the day,
+Her lively tints lose their primeval hue,
+The white and saffron mingle with the blue,
+A glowing blush o'er the whole ether reigns,
+But not a cloud its genuine tint retains.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+Where yonder mossy ruins lie,
+And desolation strikes the eye,
+A noble mansion, high and fair,
+Once rear'd its turrets in the air.
+There infant warriors drew their breath,
+And learn'd to scorn the fear of death.
+In halls where martial trophies hung,
+They listen'd while the minstrels sung,
+Of pain and glory, toil and care,
+And all the horrid charms of war:
+There caught the fond desire of fame,
+And panted for a hero's name.
+Alas! too oft in youthful bloom,
+Renown has crown'd the early tomb,
+Has pierc'd the widow's bosom deep,
+And taught the mother's eyes to weep.
+She, on whose tale the stripling hung,
+While pride and sorrow rul'd her tongue.
+His father's gallant acts to tell,
+How bold he fought, how bravely fell.
+
+Methinks e'en now I hear her speak,
+I see the tear upon her cheek;
+The musing boy's abstracted brow,
+And the high-arching eye below.
+The stifled sigh and anxious heave,
+The kindling heart which dares not grieve;
+The finely-elevated head,
+The hand upon the bosom spread,
+Proclaim him wrought by potent charms,
+And speak his very soul in arms.
+
+Incautious zeal! what hast thou done?
+The tale has robb'd thee of thy son.
+And while thy pious tears deplore,
+The loss of him who lives no more,
+Ambition wakes her restless fire,
+The boy will emulate his sire,
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+_Written April the 18th, 1796_
+
+
+The beauteous queen of social love,
+Descending from the realms above,
+Through the wide space of ether flew,
+With care this little world to view,
+Till, tir'd with wandering, at the last,
+Through every different climate past,
+She sought not out a splendid dome,
+But made this humble cot her home.
+
+The sweetest lyre would strive in vain,
+To sing the pleasures of her reign,
+Whose powerful influence does impart,
+New softness to the feeling heart,
+Bids it each narrow thought resign,
+And fills it with a warmth benign.
+
+From morning till the close of day,
+Here all a grateful homage pay,
+For here she plays her harmless wiles,
+And scatters her endearing smiles;
+Here no proud rivals intervene,
+And all, though glowing, is serene.
+Here, since she first her visit paid,
+Still has the sweet enchantress staid,
+And never met a single slight,
+Or spread her snowy plumes for flight.
+
+Contented 'neath the humble roof;
+No timid heart is kept aloof;
+A kind and condescending guest,
+She lightens each despairing breast;
+Where pain her poignant venom spreads,
+The balm of tenderness she sheds,
+Which breathes a calm repose around,
+And heals at last the burning wound.
+
+When the heart throbs with bitter woe,
+Her winning mien disarms the foe,
+And the kind glances of her eye,
+Force the desponding power to fly.
+She gives a zest to every joy,
+Forbids tranquillity to cloy,
+Softens misfortune, chases fear,
+And balm distills in every tear.
+'Tis she alone can make us know,
+A truly blissful hour below,
+Can smooth the furrow'd brow of life,
+And hush the thundering voice of strife.
+
+O, may she still exert her power,
+Still lead us to the rural bower,
+Which vaunting Pride does ne'er disgrace,
+Or critic Envy's spiteful face.
+Here Raymond ever shall delight,
+To sit and watch the closing night;
+And open-hearted Gertrude here,
+With her sweet infant shall appear.
+Here oft her brother shall prepare,
+A wreath for Mary's curling hair;
+While soft-voic'd Anna, fond of play,
+And all the train, alert and gay,
+In healthful games shall frolic round,
+And revel on the mossy ground.
+
+Here Edmund shall forget his care,
+And often fill an elbow chair;
+While Sophia, friendly and sincere,
+Shall ever find a welcome here.
+
+Yet would my hovering fancy trace,
+The features of each happy face;
+And sympathy informs my mind,
+That they the same emotions find;
+That in each scene of harmless glee,
+Memory recalls the absent three:
+And all, though distance strives to part,
+Will hold communion in the heart.
+
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham
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+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL
+
+
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