Ah! little thought I, while I heedless stray'd,
Or blithsome sung within the festive bow'r;
That danger lurk'd beneath the peaceful shade,
That there the tyrant god exerts his power!
Unconscious oft I view'd the rural fair,
And view'd without a pang each rising charm;
The swift-wing'd minutes left no trace of care,
No soft sensations gave my breast alarm!
With ev'ry grace adorn'd, and native ease,
At length Lucinda caught my wond'ring eye;
In her was center'd ev'ry power to please,
To melt the heart, and prompt the tender sigh! At once the soft contagion caught my breast; For what can Love's almighty pow'r controul! The ruling passion ev'ry thought possest,
And ev'ry fond idea fill'd my soul !
Fast by the stream that winds through Mivod's vale, There did I first my ardent vows impart;
She deign'd to listen to the artless tale,
The warm effusions of a faithful heart!
'Tis true she listen'd to my tender woes,
With patient ear she heard my fervent sighs;
Compassion soft within her bosom rose,
But yet she bade not gentle hope arise.
The changeful seasons twice their course have run, Yet still unchang'd her conq'ring pow'r I feel; Her image rises with the rising sun,
Nor can the shades of night her form conceal.
Ah! why Lucinda, did my wayward fate,
With force resistless doom my soul to prove, Those cares, those heart-corroding cares, that wait On anxious doubt, and unrequited love?
Whate'er my lot, on thee I still will tend,
I'll watch thy footsteps with redoubled zeal;
On thee alone my utmost hopes depend,
Thy smiles alone can fix my future weal.
Full well, dear maid, thy wond'rous worth I know, The wealthiest swain might wish with thee to join; But I alas! have little to bestow,
Save a fond, faithful heart! and that is thine.
BY THE LATE JACOB BRYANT, ESQ.
HERE flourish'd once, whilst Heaven did life impart,
A soul seraphic, and the purest heart;
With learning, candour, à capacious mind,
Blest with discernment, and a taste refin'd;
Soft and engaging converse; and the while
A pleasing look, and ever-winning smile.
Add each fair virtue, every grace full blown,
Known to the world, but to herself unknown.
From Wisdom's sacred fount she early drew
Knowledge divine, and practis'd what she knew.
To all alike her friendly help display'd:
Where Pity prompted, Charity obey'd.
Such was her worth; whate'er was wanting here
Is now completed in a happier sphere.
As musing slow the sea-beat shore I tread,
While the deep heaves beneath the tempest's sway,
While all is dark, and on the white wave's head
The lightning pours a momentary day;
Then through the heavens, methinks, Eternal Sire!
Thy justice walks, impels the whirlwind's breath,
Swells the deep thunder, barbs the lightning's fire,
And shakes o'er guilty worlds the balanc'd death.
Then in the roarings of the blast I hear
Thy chariot wheels: O! who can hear and live?
Convicted Nature dreads the vengeance near,
And Guilt uplifts her hands and cries, Forgive!
But when more tranquil scenes my steps invite,
Where through a fleecy veil the moonshine smiles,
Where rapid Derwent gleams with snowy light,
Or Lomond sleeps amid her wooded isles;
O, then my ravish'd soul thy mercy sees
Inspiring all beneath, around, above;
A small still voice in every dying breeze,
A voice divine proclaims, that Thou art Love!
Then stormy shores, and surging waves adieu!
And welcome brook, and vale, and peaceful grove.
But whence this thought? Shall Reason's eagle view
In none but tranquil scenes trace heavenly love?
No: place me where, on Zembla's widow'd coast,
Dark Winter heaps eternal snows on high,
And bids his towering battlements of frost
Float on mid seas, and pillar half the sky :
Or place me on Bahouda's thirsty sand,
Where the parch'd pilgrim longs for dewy night,
Where whirling pyramids of fiery sand
Oe'rwhelm the panting Arab in his flight:
Still heav'nly mercy o'er the sullen hours
Shall breathe a charm which all those hours shall cheer, Bid storms be still, and amaranthine flowers
Spring from the ashes of a polar year.
New worlds, new seasons, at her beck shall rise,
Soft branching groves the sun-burnt desert shroud,
A sudden fragrance flow through tropic skies,
A sudden rainbow blush on every cloud.
EPITAPH *,
BY THE LATE MR. DAY,
Author of Sandford and Merton, &c. &c.
BEYOND the reach of time or fortune's power,
Remain, cold stone, remain! and mark the hour
When all the noblest gifts which heaven e'er gave
Were cent'red in a dark untimely grave.
Oh! taught on Reason's boldest wings to rise,
And catch each glimmering of the opening skies;
Oh gentle bosom; oh unsullied mind!
Oh friend to truth, to virtue, to mankind!
Thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine,
Secure to feel no second loss like thine.
Written for the monument of Dr. Small, but inscribed on the
Author's tomb by his widow.
To the Memory of Robert Burns.
PORTENTOUS sigh'd the hollow blast, Which, sorrow-freighted, southward pass'd; I heard the sound, and stood aghast
The mournful truth is told at last,
And BURNS is dead!
Ah! sweetest minstrel, nature's child,
Could not thy "native wood-notes wild,"
Thy manly sense, thy manners mild,
And sprightly glee,
The ghastly tyrant have beguil'd
To set thee free?
Unfriended, desolate and young,
Misfortune o'er thy cradle hung;
And penury had check'd thy song,
But check'd in vain ;
Till Death, resistless in his wrong,
Has clos'd the strain!
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