Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain?
Upon his father did he call in vain?

Have pitiless and bloody tribes defil'd

The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child!

Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice; The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice; But faint and weary I shall meet the morn, And mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn!

The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud, O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd; Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove; The fisher carols in the winding cove;

And light canoes along the lucid tide

With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. I linger on the desert rock alone,

Heartless, and cry for thee, my Son, my Son.

page 97.

Published Feb. 1.1798, by C.Dilly Cadell Davies, London; and R. Cruttwell, Baths!

WRITTEN

AT

SOUTHAMPTON.

SMOOTH went our boat upon the summer seas,
Leaving (for so it seem'd) the world behind,
Its sounds of ming'd uproar: we, reclin'd
Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze
That o'er us whispering pass'd, or idly play'd
With the lithe flag aloft.-A woodland scene
On either side drew its slope line of green,
And hung the water's shining edge with shade.
Above the woods, NETLEY! thy ruins pale

Peer'd, as we pass'd; and VECTA's* azure hue Beyond the misty castlef met the view; Where in mid channel hung the scarce-seen sail. So all was calm and sunshine as we went Cheerily o'er the briny element.

*Isle of Wight.

VOL. I.

Kelshot Castle.

$2

WRITTEN AT SOUTHAMPTON.

Oh! were this little boat to us the world,

As thus we wander'd far from sounds of care, Circl'd with friends and gentle maidens fair, Whilst morning airs the waving pennant curl'd; How sweet were life's long voyage, till in peace We gain'd that haven still, where all things cease!