TO SLEEP. FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep, When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! WORDSWORTH. THE MUSE. If thou would'st woo the Muse, seek out a tomb, Round which the loud autumnal winds are sweeping, While Night's dank dews unwholesome weeds are steeping, And all is dark and drear,-for joy no room, For hope no ray! both scene and season doom The mind to melancholy musings! Sleeping Of strife, lies ONE whom life perchance did gird From flatt'rer base repeats his worth! A grand And mystic school is this, the POET-MIND to expand! ANON. FAME. WHY do we love thee, Fame? thou art not sweet; With peace and tenderness, and ease from woes; HENRY NEELE. AFTER-FAME. WHEN dead is all the vigour of the fame, Nor wreaths from groups of smiling fair to claim; To others bore the boon we would from them receive! SIR EGERTON BRYDGES. CHARITY. SWEET mercy! how my very heart has bled That mocks thy shivering; take my garment; use A young man's arm. I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Vara, too, shall tend thee, like a child; And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess, Who met the lazar turn'd from rich man's doors, COLERIDGE. |