AUTHOR.
As these POEMS are never intended
to meet the public eye, no apology is necessary for
the form in which they now appear. They are printed
merely for the perusal of a few friends to whom they
are dedicated; who will look upon them with indulgence;
and as most of them were, composed between the age
of 15 and 17, their defects will be pardoned or forgotten,
in the youth and inexperience of the WRITER.
* * * *
FUGITIVE PIECES.
* * *
ON LEAVING N—ST—D.
Through the cracks in these battlements
loud the winds whistle,
For the hall of my fathers
is gone to decay;
And in yon once gay garden the hemlock
and thistle
Have choak’d up the
rose, which late bloom’d in the way.
Of the barons of old, who once proudly
to battle
Led their vassals from Europe
to Palestine’s plain;
The escutcheon and shield, which with
ev’ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges
now that remain.
No more does old Robert, with harp-stringing
numbers,
Raise a flame in the breast,
for the war laurell’d wreath,
Near Askalon’s Towers John of Horiston1
slumbers,
Unnerv’d is the hand
of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley
of Cressy,
For the safety of Edward and
ENGLAND they fell,
My fathers! the tears of your country
redress ye,
How you fought! how you died!
still her annals can tell.
On [2]Marston with Rupert3 ’gainst
traitors contending,
Four Brothers enrich’d
with their blood the bleak field
For Charles the Martyr their country defending,
Till death their attachment
to royalty scal’d.
Shades of heroes farewell! your descendant
departing,
From the seat of his ancestors,
bids ye adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he’ll think
upon glory, and you.
Though a tear dims his eye at this sad
separation,
’Tis nature, not fear,
which commands his regret;
Far distant he goes with the same emulation,
In the grave, he alone can
his fathers forget.
Your fame, and your memory, still will
he cherish,
He vows that he ne’er
will disgrace your renown;
Like you will he live, or like you will
he perish,
When decay’d, may he
mingle his dust with your own.
1803.
[Footnote 1: Horiston Castle,
in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the B—r—n
family.]
[Footnote 2: The battle of Marston
Moor, where the adherents of CHARLES I. were defeated.]
[Footnote 3: Son of the Elector
Palatine, and related to CHARLES I. He afterwards
commanded the Fleet, in the Reign of CHARLES II.]
* * *
TO E——.
Let Folly smile, to view the names
Of thee and me in friendship
twin’d,
Yet virtue will have greater claims
To love, than rank with vice
combin’d.
And though unequal is thy fate,
Since title deck’d my
higher birth;
Yet envy not this gaudy state,
Thine is the pride
of modest worth.
Our souls at least congenial meet,
Nor can thy lot my
rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,
Since worth of rank supplies
the place.
November, 1802.
* * *
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN
TO THE AUTHOR AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.
* * *
Hush’d are the winds, and still
the evening gloom,
Not e’en a zephyr wanders
through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret’s
tomb,
And scatter flowers on the
dust I love.
2.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay where once such
animation beam’d;
The king of terrors seiz’d her as
his prey,
Not worth, nor beauty, have
her life redeem’d.
3.
Oh! could that king of terrors pity feel,
Or Heaven reverse the dread
decree of fate,
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Not here the muse her virtues
would relate.
4.
But wherefore weep! her matchless spirit
soars,
Beyond where aplendid shines
the orb of day.
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
Where endless pleasures virtuous
deeds repay.
5.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven
arraign!
And madly God-like Providence
accuse!
Ah! no far fly from me attempts so vain,
I’ll ne’er submission
to my God refuse.
6.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that
beauteous face;
Still they call forth my warm affection’s
tear.
Such sorrow brings me honour,
not disgrace.[4]
1802.
[Footnote 4: The Author claims
the indulgence of the reader, more for this piece,
than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as
it was written at an earlier period than the rest,
(being composed at the age of 14) and his first Essay,
be preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his
friends in its present state, to making either addition
or alteration.]
* * *
TO D. ——
In thee, I fondly hop’d to clasp,
A friend whom death alone
could sever,
But envy with malignant grasp,
Has torn thee from my breast
for ever.
2.
True, she has forc’d thee from my
breast,
But in my heart thou
keep’st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease
to beat.
3.
And when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is
given,
On thy dear breast I’ll lay
my head,
Without thee! where
would be my Heaven?
February, 1803.
* * *
TO ——
Think’st thou I saw thy beauteous
eyes,
Suffus’d in tears implore
to stay;
And heard unmov’d, thy plenteous
sighs,
Which said far more than words
could say.
Though deep the grief, thy tears
exprest,
When love, and hope, lay both
o’erthrown,
Yet still, my girl, this bleeding
breast,
Throbb’d with deep sorrow,
as thine own.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow’d,
When thy sweet lips
where join’d to mine;
The tears that from my eye-lids
flow’d,
Were lost in those which fell
from thine.
Thou could’st not feel my burning
cheek,
Thy gushing tears had
quench’d its flame,
And as thy tongue essay’d to speak,
In sighs alone it breath’d
my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs
deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But that, will make
us weep the more.
Again, thou best belov’d, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst o’ercome
regret,
Nor let thy mind past joys review,
Our only hope is to
forget.
1805.
* * *
TO CAROLINE.
You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love
betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when
far from thee.
3.
Whene’er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled
cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e’en your eyes your
love bespeak.
4.
Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breaths my name;
Our passions still are not the same,
Alas! you cannot love like
me.
5.
For e’en your lip seems steep’d
in snow,
And though so oft it meets
my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy
bliss.
6.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne’er
be true.
7.
Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids
adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving
you.
8.
Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when, at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form
I view.
9.
’Tis then your breast, no longer
cold,
With equal ardour seems to
burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth
return.
10.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusions past,
That voice
no, ’tis
but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring
grove.
11.
But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur’d
all your charms,
So chill’s the pressure of your
cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac’d,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac’d,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you do
not love.
* * *
*
