WRITTEN IN THE RUINS OF **
OH stream! whose proudly flowing tide
Through scenes majestic loved to glide,
Adorned by terrace, tower, and tree,
That borrowed still a grace from thee;
No more by tower and terrace now
Thy placid waves are doomed to flow;
Thyself the sole remaining grace,
Where once unnumbered charms could trace
Their sweet impression on the spot-
Those charms are faded and forgot!
Their splendour sunk, their beauty flown,
Or beauteous in their fall alone!
The lord of many a former day
Along thy margin loved to stray,
And view, reflected in thy flood,
The pride of his paternal wood;
The falling of thy silver stream
Soothed many a listener's waking dream.
All, all is waste and silent now!
Unseen, unheard thy waters flow,
Save where along thy moss-grown side,
In mood to mournfulness allied,
Some lonely pensive wanderer strays,
And gleans a tale of other days.
Those stately towers, those heights subline,
That mocked the growing strength of time,
How fair and firm they once did seem,
How fleeting thou, inconstant stream!
Yet time has spared thy changeful tide,
Though ruin wait on all beside.
So fares it with life's doubtful span;
So nature seems to sport with man:
The mighty droop, the strong decay,
The proud to ruin waste away;
While those in mould more humble cast,
The ruin and the danger past,
Secure, their peaceful trophies raise
Amidst the wreck of brighter days.
IN the gay morn of life, when no sorrows opprest,
And youth's glowing passions reigned over my breast,
Oh! bright was the ideal picture I drew,
It enchanted my soul with its richness of hue.
My mind like a garden luxuriantly smiled,
There intelligence grew in exuberance wild,
Unknowing, unheeding, how useless the toil,
With ardour I cultured the rich mental soil,
And wrapt in delusion did vainly presume
The flowerets of Fancy for ever would bloom.
But o'er the bright prospect Care's clouds closed around,
And veiled all my hopes in a darkness profound;
Joy yielded to anguish, and gloomy despair
Assailed my sad bosom and fixed itself there.
Now, Fancy no longer roves over the bower,
Embellished so gaily in youth's fleeting hour;
Its flowerets once blooming now withered recline,
And to view them with rapture no longer is mine,
For that sun which once shot forth in brilliance its ray,
Has set, and the magic's all vanished away.
August 10, 1818.
I SAW upon thy breast a flower,
And wished-but what 'tis vain to tell---
It bloomed, the creature of an hour,
For soon it withered, drooped, and fell.
Ah pretty flower, thou couldst not bear
That bosom's touch-the joy of lying
On love's soft throne, a heaven,-where
I envy thee the bliss of dying.
oh say, what made thee die?
Didst thou e'er love her unrequited?
Didst thou e'er breathe for her a sigh?
Or feel thy hopes for ever blighted?
Didst thou when loving, love sincerely,
Though doomed beneath her hate to pine?-
Placed near that heart I prize so dearly,
Would, pretty flower! thy fate were mine.
Plymouth, Aug. 13, 1818.
THE INVITATION.
INCLEMENT Winter's rigid sway,
At length, my love, is past;
The lowering gloom is chased away,
And hushed, the angry blast.
And now, the sun's prolific beam
With genial warmth delights;
And where blithe nature's beauties teem,
Thy gentle step invites.
Come then, Eliza, dearest maid!
With me awhile repair,
To view the charms by spring displayed,
And breathe the vernal air.
Together will we fondly rove
Through every flowery vale;
O'er fertile hills, and in each grove,
Where varied sweets exhale.
I'll cull the lilac's choicest bloom,
To deck my fair one's breast;
Or with the blossomed thorn presume
Her bosom to invest.
And round that brow, where loves preside,
And sense and virtue shine,
Each bud that blows in floral pride,
Officiously entwine.
Oh then obey the fond command!
Thou maid of beauteous mien!
Haste, where bestrewn by nature's hand,
Abounds the verdant green.
There, 'midst enchanting scenes we'll rove,
Throughout the live-long day;
And Love himself shall deign to prove
Companion on our way.
"TIS taste a-la-mode, and the pride of the age,
To sot with the mob, and like savages rage,
To drown dull reflection, the province of brutes,
The hero his manners, and circumstance suits :
A rebel at once to his reason, and king,
Secured from the stream by his right to the string.
A TRIBUTE OF LOVE.
INSCRIBED TO MY BEST EARTHLY FRIEND.
THOU art my bosom friend! my best beloved!
O Mary! in this world of bitter strife,
How blest is he whose wayward fate has proved
The heavenly value of a virtuous wife!*
And I have proved it. I have known the hour
Of darkness that o'ershadows all the soul,
When man-unfeeling man-assumes the power
To crush misfortune by his proud controul.
But, gentle soother of the grief-worn mind!
Thy sweet persuasion can a spell impart,
That bids the stream of pure affection wind
In floods of joy around the troubled heart.
Then let pale envy, with malignant spite,-
And purse-proud ignorance, with paltry guile,-
Let all the darkest powers of earth unite
To bear me down:-and I will rise and smile!
The sunbeams of happiness burst o'er my head,
To lighten my path as I go;
And mental enjoyment before me has spread
All the comforts a mortal can know.
For what are the riches that earth can afford
Compared with a conscience at rest?
And what is the power of a king or a lord
By love and by friendship unblest?
O give me but peace and the blessing of health
For those that are dearest to me!
"Tis all, my beloved! that I covet of wealth-
For myself, for my children, and thee.
May we but resign all that providence gave
With the firmness that heaven bestows!
And may the same hour bring us both to the grave-
Our last, our eternal repose!
WHEN borne on wings of love I stray,
In hopes to meet my charming fair,
How sweetly pass the hours away
If Evelina be but there.
I fly to meet my lovely maid,
And love's enchanting tale declare,
At evening in the lonely glade,
And rove with Evelina there.
Lovers alone this bliss can know,
These raptures lovers only share;
These joys are heaven begun below,
If Evelina be but there.
But ah! what anxious cares arise
When doomed to hid my love farewell;
While the soft-beaming of her eyes
Conveys what words but faintly tell.
Her head reclining on my breast
Imparts a sympathetic care,
That I must go-thus sweetly blest-
And leave my Evelina there.
Oh yes too swift the moments fly,
Thus caught in Love's bewitching snare! For I must heave the parting sigh,
Though Evelina's self be there.
Yes, we must part-time hastens on-
And night steals on ere well aware,
While Philomela tunes her song
To greet my Evelina there.
Yet though thus doomed from thee to part,
Will Memory often here repair,
And Fancy picture to my heart
The pleasing transports cherished there.
Yes, dearest maid! in every scene
Which time or fortune may prepare,
Whatever cares may intervene,
I'll think of Evelina there.
In youth, in age, in life and death,
If Fortune smile, or Fortune spare,
I'll bless thee with my latest breath,
And think of Evelina there.
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