Beware a speedy friend, the Arabian said,

And wisely was it he advised distrust:

The flower that blossoms earliest fades the first. Look at yon Oak that lifts its stately head, And dallies with the autumnal storm, whose rage

Tempests the ocean waves; slowly it rose,
Slowly its strength increased through many an age,

And timidly did its light leaves disclose,
As doubtful of the spring, their palest green.

They to the summer cautiously expand,

And by the warmer sun and season bland
Matured, their foliage in the grove is scen,
When the bare forest by the wintry blast
Is swept, still lingering on the bouglis the last.


FAREWELL my home, my home no longer now,

Witness of many a calm and happy day; And thou fair eminence, upon whose brow

Dwells the last sunshine of the evening ray, Farewell! Mine eyes no longer shall pursue

The western sun beyond the utmost height,

When slowly he forsakes the fields of light.
No more the freshness of the falling dew,
Cool and delightful, here shall bathe my head,

As from this western wiudow dear, I lean,

Listening, the while I watch the placid scene, The martins Twittering underneath the shied. Farewell, my home! where many a day has past In joys whose loved remembrance long shail last.



If thou didst feed on western plains of yore;

Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor;

Or tind in farmer's yard a safe retreat

From gypsey thieves, and foxes sly and fleet; If thy grey quills, by law yer guided, trace Deeds big will ruin to some wretched race,

Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet,

Wailing the rigour of his lady fair;
Or if, the drudge of housemaid's daily toil,
Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil,

Departed goose! I neither know nor care.
Dut this I know, that thou wert very fine,
Season'd with
sage, and onions, and port wine.


Porlock, thy verdant vale so fair to sight,

Thy lofty hills with fern and furze so brown,

The waters that so musical roll down Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight

Recalls to memory, and the channel grey

Circling its surges in thy level bay ;Porlock, I also shall forget Uiee not,

Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined;

And often shall hercafter call to mind How here, a patient prisoner, 't was my lot To wear the lonely, lingering close of day,

Making my Sonnet by the alchouse fire,

Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire
Duil rhymes to pass the duller hours away.

August 9, 1799.

I MARVEL not, O sun! that unto thee
In adoration man should bow the knee,


prayers of mingled awe and love ; For like a God thou art, and on thy way Of glory sheddest with benignant ray,

Beauty, and life, and joyance from above.

No longer let these mists thy radiance shroud, These cold raw mists that chill the comfortless day; But shed thy splendour through the opening cloud

And cheer the carth once more. The languid tlowers Lie odourless, bent down with heavy rain,

Earth asks thy presence, saturate with showers! O Lord of Light! put forth thy beams again,

For damp and cheerless are the gloomy hours.



vessel sails adown the tide, To some far distant and adventurous bound; The sailors' busy cries from side to side

Pealing among the echoing rocks resound:
A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band,

Joyful they enter on their ocean way,
With shouts exulting leave their native land,

And know no care beyond the present day.
But is there no poor mourner left behind,

Who sorrows for a child or husbaud there? Who at the howling of the midnight wind

Will wake and tremble in ber boding prayer! So may her voice be lieard, and Heaven be kind! Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair!



Fair be thy fortunes in the distant land,
Companion of


and friend! Go to the Eastern world, and may the hand

Of Heaven its blessing on thy labour send. And may I, if we ever more should meet,

See thee with aftluence to thiy native sliore Return'd;-I need not pray that I may greet

The same untainted goodness as before. Long years must intervene before that day;

And what the changes lleaven to each may send,

It boots not now to bode! Oh carly friend ! Assured, no distance e'cr can wcar away Esteem long rooted, and no change remove The dear remembrance of the friend we love.


O God have mercy in this dreadful hour

On the poor mariner! in comfort here

Safe shelter'd as I am, I almost fear 'The blast that rages with resistless power.

What were it now to toss upon the waves, The maddend waves, and know no succour near; The howling of the storm alone to hear,

And the wild sea that to the tempest raves, To gaze

amid the horrors of the night And only see the billow's gleaming light;

And in the dread of death to think of her
Who, as she listens sleepless to the gale,
Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale?-
O God! have mercy on the mariner!


Heaven's vengeance on thy sin: Must thou be told

The CRIME it is to paint DIVINITY?
Raslı Painter! should the world her charms behold,

Dim and defiled, as there they needs must be,
They to their old idolatry would fall,
Aud bend before her forin the


knee. Fairer than VENUS, DAUGHTER OF TUE SEA.

She comes majestic with her swelling sails,

The gallant bark! along her watery way Homeward she drives before the favouring gales;

Now tlirting at their length the streamers play, And now they ripple with the ruftling breeze,

Hark to the sailors' shouts! the rocks rebound,

Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound. Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas,

And what a heart-delight they feel at last,

So many toils, so many dangers past, To view the port desired, he only knows

Who on the stormy deep for many a day

Hath tost, a weary of his ocean way, And watch'd, all anxious, every wind that blows.


A WRINKLED, crabbed man they picture thee,

Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey
As the long moss upon the apple-tree;
Blue lipe, an ice-drop at thy sharp blue nose;

Close muftled up, and on thy dreary way,
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.
They should have drawn thee by the bigh-lieape heartlı,

Old Winter! seated in thy great-arm d chair, Watcliing the children at their Christmas mirth,

Or circled by them as thy lips declare Some merry jest or tale of murder dire,

Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire, Or taste the old October brown and bright.



HIS LOVE FOR DELIA. Some have denied a soul! THEY NEVER LOVED. Far from my Delia now by fate removed,

At home, abroad, 1 view her every wlicre;
Her ONLY in the FLOOD OF NOON I see.

My Godiless-Plaid, my OMNIPRESENT FAIR,
For Love annihilates the world to me!
And when the weary Sol around his bed

Closes the SABLE CURTAINS of the night,

SUN OF MY SLUMBERS, on my dazzled sight
She shines confest. When every sound is dead,
The SPIRIT OF HER VOICE comes then to roll

The surge of music o'er my wavy brain.

Far, far from her my Body drags its chain, But sure with Delia I exist A SOUL!




I would I were that Reverend Gentleman
With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane,

Who hangs in Delia's parlour! For whene'er
From book or needlework her looks arise,
On him converge the SUN-BEAMS of her eyes,

And lie unblamed may fize upon my FAIR,
And oft MY FAIR his favour'd form surveys.
O HAPPY PICTURE! still on HER 10 gaze!

I envy him! and jealous fear alarms,

Lest the strong glance of those divinest charms
WARM HIM TO LIFE, as in the ancient days,

When MARBLE MELTED in Pygmalion's arms.
I would I were that Reverend Gentleman
With gold-laced hat and golden-leaded cane.

DELIA AT PLAY. She held a Cup and Ball of Ivory white,

Less while the Ivory than her snowy hand !

Enrapi I watchid her from my secret stand, As now, inteni, in innocent delight,

Her taper fingers twirl'd the giddy ball, Now tost it, following still with Eagle sight,

Now on the pointed end infix'd its fall. Marking her sport I mused, and musing sighd, Meibought the ball she play'd with was my HEART! (Alas! that Sport like that should be her pride!) And clic keen point which stedfast still she eyed

Wherewith lo pierce il, that was Cupid's dart; Shall I not then the cruel Fair condeinn Who on that durt IMPALES my BusOM'S GEM?

my fuir,


RASH Painter! canst thou give the ORB OF DAY
Jo all its noontide glory? or portray

The DIAMOND, that athiwari the trper'd ball
Flings the rich flashes of its dazzliny light?
Even if thive art could boast suchu magic might,

Yet if it strove to paint my Angel's eye,
Here it perforce must fail. Cease! lest I call


DELIA'S POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF. 'T is mioc! what accents can my joy declare?

Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout! Blest be the land so lasty of

That left the templing corner hanging out! I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,

After long travel to some distant shrine, When at the relic of his saint he kueels,

For Delia's POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF IS MINE. When first will filching finge

I drew near, keen lope slot (reinulous trougli every vein, And when the finishii deed removed my fear,

Scarce could my bounding lieart its joy contain. What though the Eilitli Cominandment rose to mind,

11 only served a moment's qualm to more; For thefis like this it could not be desigua, The Eigluh Commandment was NOT MADE FOR LOVE!

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Cupid lias strung from you, O tresses fine,
THE POET INVOKES THE SPIRITS OF THE The bow that in my breast impelld his dart;
ELEMENTS TO APPROACH DEL'A. HE DE- From you, sweet locks! he wove the subtile line

Wherewith the urchin angled for my HEART.
YE Sylphs, who banquet on my Delia's blush, Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads
Who on her locks of FLOATING GOLD repose,

That from the silk-worm, self-interr'd, proceed; Dip in her cheek your GOSSAMERY BRUSII,

Fine as the GLEAMY Gossames that spreads And with its bloom of beauty tinge TIE ROSE.

Its filmy web-work o'er the tangled mead.

llover around her lips on rainbow wing,

Load from her honeyed breath your viewless feet, Bear thence a richer fragrance for the Spring,

And make the lily and the violet sweet.

Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate

My captive heart has handcuff d in a chain,
Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate,


Ye GNOMES, whose toil through many a dateless year

Jis nurture to the infant gem supplies,
From central caverns bring your diamonds here,

To ripen in the SUN OF DELIA'S EYES.

The Sylpas that round her radiant locks repair,

In flowing lustre bathe their brightening wings : And ELFIN MINSTRELS with assiduous care

The ringlets rob for FAERY FIDDLE-STRINGS.


ye who bathe in Etna's lava springs, Spirits of fire! to see my love advance;


OF DELIA'S HAIR, AND HER ANGER. To wanton in my Delia's fiery glance.

On! be the day accurst that gave me birth! She weeps, she weeps! her eye with anguish swells,

Ye Seas, to swallow me in kindness rise ! Some tale of sorrow melts

Fall on me, Mountains! and thou merciful Earth, FEELING GIRL!

my Nympas! catch the tears, and in your lucid shells

Opeu, and hide me from my Delia's eyes! Enclose them, EMBRYOS OF THE ORIENT PEARL.

Let universal Chaos now return, She sings! the Nightingale with envy hears,

Now let the central fires their prison burst,

And Earth and NEAVEN and air and ocean burnThe CUERUBIM bends from his starry throne,

For Delia FROWNS-SHE FROWNS, and I am curst.' And motionless are stopt the attentive SPHERES, To hear more heavenly music than their own.

Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight, Cease, Delia, cease! for all the ANGEL TORONG,

Where hostile millions sought my single life;

Would storm VOLCANO BATTERIES with delight,
Listening to thee, let sleep their golden wires !
Cease, Delia, cease! that too surpassing song,

And grapple with GRIM DEATH in glorious strife. Lest, stung to envy, they should break their lyres.

Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove,

When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies; Cease, ere my senses are to madness driven

What is his wrath to that of HER I love?
By the strong joy! cease, Delia, lest my

What is his LIGHTNING to my Delia's EYES?
And burst the feeble Body's frail controul.

Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind;

Ye serpent curls, ye poison-tendrils, 40-
THE POET EXPATIATES ON THE BEAUTY OF Would I could tear thy memory from my mind,
ACCURSED LOCK,-thou cause of all my

woe! Tue comb between whose ivory teeth slie strains Seize the consT CURLs, ye Furies, as they lly! The straitening curls of gold so beamy bright,

Demons of darkness, cuard the infernal roll, Not Spotless merely from the touch remains,

That thence your cruel vengeance when I die, But issues forth more pure, more milky white.

May knit the KNOTS OF TORTURE for my soul.


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Brother, thou wert strong in youth!
Brother, thou wert brave in war!

Uohappy man was he
For whom thou hadst sharpend the tomabawk's edge!

Unhappy man was he
On whom thine angry cye was fix'd in fight!

And he wlio from thy hand

Received the calumet
Blest Heaven, and slept in peace.

When the Evil Spirits seized thee, Brother, we were sad at heart:

We bade the Jongler come

And briog his magic aid; We circled thee in mystic dance, With songs and shouts and cries, To free thee from their power.

Brother, but in vain we strove, The number of thy days was full.



Rest in peace, my Father, rest!
With danger and coil have I borne thy corpse

From the Stranger's field of death.

I bless thee, O Wife of the Sun,
For veiling thy beams with a cloud,

While at the pious task

Thy votary toil'd in fear.
Thou badest the clouds of night
Enwrap thee, and hide thee from Man;

But didst thou not sce my toil,
And put on the darkness to aid,

O Wife of the visible God?

Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat, The bear-skin from thy shoulder langs, Thy feet are sandal'd ready for the way.

Those are the unfatiguable feet
That traversed the forest (rack!

Those are the lips that late

Thunder'd the yell of war;
And that is the strong right arm
Which never was lifted in vain.

Those lips are silent now,
The limbs that were active are stiff,
Loose hangs the strong right arm!

Wretched, my Father, thy life!
Wretched the life of the Slave!

All day for another he toils;

Overwearied at night he lies down.
And dreams of the freedom that once he enjoy'd.
Thou wert blest in the days of thy youth,

My Father! for then thou werı free.
In the fields of the nation thy hand

Bore its part of the general task;
And when, with the song and the dance,

Ye brought the harvest home,


As all in the labour had shared,

Hark! hark! in the howl of the wind
So justly they shared in the fruits.

The shout of the battle, the clang of their drums,

The horsemen are met, and the shock of the fight
Thou visible Lord of the Earth,

Is the blast that disbranches the wood.
Thou God of my Fathers, thou God of my heart,
O Giver of light and of life!

Behold from the clouds of their power
When the Strangers came to our shores, The lightning, -the lighening is lanced at our sires !
Why didst thou not put forth thy power?

And the thunder that stakes the broad pavement of

Thy thunders should then have been burla,
Thy fires should in lightnings have flaslı'd !-

And the darkness that quenches the day!
Visible God of the Earth,
The Strangers mock at thy might!

Ye Souls of our Fathers, be brave!
To idols and beams of wood

Ye shrunk not before the invaders on carih,
They force us to bow the knee!

Ye trembled not then at their weapons of fire,
They plunje us in caverns and dens,

Brave Spirits, ye tremble pot now!
Where never thy blessed light
Shines on our poisonous toil!

We gaze on your warfare in hope,
But not in the caverns and deos,

We send up our shouts to encourage your arms!
O Sun, are we miodless of thee!

Lift the lance of your vengeance, O Fathers ! with force,

For the
We pine for the want of thy beams,


your country strike home! We adore thee with anguish and groans.

Remember the land was your own

When the Sons of Destruction came over the seas;
My Father, rest in peace!

That the old fell asleep in the fulluess of days,
Rest with the dust of thy Sires!

And their children wept over their graves,
They placed their Cross in thy dying grasp;-
They bore thee to their burial-place,

Till the Strangers came into the land
And over thy breathless frame

With tongues of deceit and with wcapons of fire :
Their bloody and merciless Priest

Then the strength of the people in youth was cut off,
Mumbled his mystery words.

And the father wept over his son.
Oh! could thy bones be at peace
In thc fields where the Strangers are laid ?--

It thickens—the tumult of fight!
Alone, in danger and in pain,

Louder and louder the blast of the battle is heard!
My Father, I bring thee here:

Remember the wrongs that your country endures !
So may our God, in reward,

Remember the fields of
Allow me one faithful friend
To lay me beside thee when I am released!

Joy! joy! for the Strangers recoil, -
So may he release me soon,

They give way,--they retreat to the land of their life!
That my Spirit may join thee there,

Pursue them! pursue tbem! remember your wrongs! Where the Strangers never shall come!

Let your lances be drunk with their wounds. 1799

The Souls of your wives shall rejoice

As they welcome you back to your Íslands of Bliss; SONG OF THE ARAUCANS

And the breeze that refreshes the toil-Uirobbing brow

Waft thither the song of your praise.

1799. The storm-cloud grows deeper above; Araucans! the tempest is ripe in the sky;

SONG OF THE CHIKKASAH WIDOW. Our forefathers come from their Islands of Bliss, They come to the war of the winds.

'T was the voice of my husband that came on the gale.

The unappeased Spirit in anger complains! The Souls of the Strangers are there,

Rest, rest Ollanahta, be still! In their garments of darkness they ride through the

The day of revenge is at hand. heaven; Yon cloud that rolls luridly over the hill

The stake is made ready, the captives shall die; Is red with their weapons of fire.

To-morrow the song of their death shalt thou hear, "Respecting storms, the people of Chili are of opioion that, the

To-morrow thy widow shall wield deparied souls are returning from their abode beyond the sea to as- The kuife and the fire;-be at rest! sist their relations and friends. Accordingly, when it thunders over tbe mountains, they tbink that the souls of their forefathers are The vengeance of anguish shall soon liave its course, taken in an engagement with those of the Spaniarus. The roaring The fountains of grief and of fury shall flow.of the winds they take to be the noise of horsemen attacking one

I will think, Ollanahta! of thee, another, the bowling of the tempest for the beating of drums, and the claps of tbonder for the discharge of miskets and cannons.- Will remember the days of our love. When the wind drives the clouds towards the possessions of the Spaniards, they rejoice that the souls of their forefathers have re- Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sat, pulsed those of their enemies, and call out aloud to them 10 gira Where idly thy hatchet of battle is hung; ibem do quarter. When the contrary bappeus, they are troubled und dejected, and encourage the yielding souls to rally their forces,

I gazed on the bow of thy strength and summon up the last remains of their strength. --- NEIXER.

As it waved on the stream of the wind.

your fame!

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