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SONNET.

As slow and solemn yonder deepening knell
Tolls through the sullen evening's shadowy gloom,
Alone and pensive, in my silent room,
On man and on mortality I dwell.
And as the harbinger of death I hear
Frequent and full, much do I love to muse
On life's distemper'd scenes of hope and fear;
And passion varying her camelion hues,
And man pursuing pleasure's empty shade,
Till death dissolves the vision. So the child
In youth's gay morn with wondering pleasure smil'd,
As with the shining ice well-pleas'd he play'd;
Nor, as he grasps the crystal in his play,
Ileeds how the faithless bauble melts away.

SONNET. To THE FiRE.

My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright, Nor smoke nor ashes soil thy grateful flame; Thy temperate splendour cheers the gloom of night, Thy genial heat enlivens the chill'd frame. I love to muse me o'er the evening hearth, I love to pause in meditation's sway; And whilst each object gives reflection birth, Mark thy brisk rise, and see thy slow decay: And I would wish, like thee, to shine serene, Like thce, within mine influence, all to cheer; And wish at last, in life's declining scene, As I had beam'd as bright, to fade as clear: So might my children ponder o'er my shrine, And o'er my ashes muse, as I will muse over thine.

SONNET. The FAded Flower.

UNGRAteful he who pluckt thee from thy stalk,
Poor faded slow'ret! on his careless way,
Inhal'd awhile thine odours on his walk,
Then past along, and left thee to decay.
Thou melancholy emblem had I seen
Thy modest beauties dew'd with evening's gem,
I had not rudely cropt thy parent stem,
But left thy blossom still to grace the green,
And now I bend me o'er thy wither'd bloom,
And drop the tear, as Fancy, at my side
Deep-sighing, points the fair frail EMMA's tomb;
« Like thine, sad flower! was that poor wanderer's
pride!
O, lost to love and truth! whose selfish joy
Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy.”

SONNET. T TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

SAD songstress of the night, no more I hear
Thy soften’d warblings meet my pensive ear,
As by thy wonted haunts again I rove;
why art thou silent wherefore sleeps thy lay :
For faintly fades the sinking orb of day,
And yet thy music charms no more the grove.

The shrill bat flutters by ; from yon dark tower
The shrieking owlet hails the shadowy hour;
Hoarse hums the beetle as he drones along,
The hour of love is flown thy full-fledg'd brood
No longer need thy care to cull their food,
And nothing now remains to prompt the song:
But drear and sullen seems the silent grove,
No more responsive to the lay of love.

SONNET. to neflection.

Hence, busy torturer, wherefore should mine eye
Revert again to many a sorrow past?
Hence, busy torturer, to the happy fly,
Those who have never seen the sun o'ercast
By one dark cloud, thy retrospective beam,
Serene and soft, may on their bosoms gleam,
As the last splendour of the summer sky.
Let them look back on pleasure, ere they know
To mourn its absence; let them contemplate
The thorny windings of our mortal state,
Ere unexpected bursts the cloud of woe;
Stream not on me thy torch's baneful glow,
Like the sepulchral lamp's funereal gloom,
In darkness glimmering to disclose a tomb.

THE MAD WOMAN.

The circumstance on which the following Ballad is founded, happened not many years ago in Bristol. The Traveller's hands were white with cold, The Traveller's lips were blue, Oh! glad was he when the village church So near was seen in view!

He hasten'd to the village Inn,
That stood the church-door nigh,

There sat a woman on a grave,
And he could not pass her by.

Her feet were bare, and on her breast
Through rags did the winter blow,

She sate with her face towards the wind,
And the grave was cover'd with snow.

Is there never a Christian in the place, To her the Traveller cried,

Who will let thee, this cold winter time, Sit by his fire-side?

I have fire in my head, she answered him,
I have fire in my heart also:

And there will be no winter time
In the place where I must go!

A curse upon thee, man,
For mocking me! she said;

And he saw the woman's eyes, like one
In a fever-fit, were red.

And when he to the inn-door came, And the host his greeting gave,

He ask'd who that mad woman was Who sate upon the grave.

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Pig! t is your master's pleasure—then be still, And hold your nose to let the iron through!

Dare you resist your lawful Sovereign's will? Rebellious Swine! you know not what you do!

To man o'er beast the power was given;
Pig, hear the truth, and never murmur more!

Would you rebel against the will of Heaven?
You impious beast, be still, and let them bore!

The social Pig resigns his natural rights
When first with man he covenants to live;

He barters them for safer stye delights,
For grains and wash, which man alone can give.

Sure is provision on the social plan,
Secure the comforts that to each belong:

Oh, happy Swine! the impartial sway of man
Alike protects the weak Pig and the strong.

And you resist! you struggle now because
Your master has thought fit to bore your nose!

You grunt in flat rebellion to the laws
Society finds needful to impose !

Go to the forest, Piggy, and deplore
The miserable lot of savage Swine!

See how the young Pigs fly from the great Boar,
And see how coarse and scantily they dine!

Behold their hourly danger, when who will
May hunt or snare or seize them for his food :

Oh, happy Pig' whom none presumes to kill
Till your protecting master thinks it good!

And when, at last, the closing hour of life
Arrives (for Pigs must die as well as Man),

When in your throat you feel the long sharp knife,
And the blood trickles to the pudding-pan;

And when, at last, the death wound yawning wide,
Fainter and fainter grows the expiring cry,

Is there no grateful joy,"no loyal pride,
To think that for your master's good you die?

TO A COLLEGE CAT.

WRITTEN SOON AFTER The INSTALLATIon AT oxford, 1793.

Toll on, toll on, old Bell ! I'll neither pray
Nor sleep away the hour. The fire burns bright,
And, bless the maker of this great-arm'd chair,
This is the throne of comfort I will sit
And study most devoutly: not my Euclid,
For God forbid that I should discompose
That spider's excellent geometry :
I'll study thee, Puss: not to make a picture—
I hate your canvas cats and dogs and fools,
Themes that pollute the pencil let me see
The Patriot's actions start again to life,
And I will bless the artist who awakes
The throb of emulation. Thou shalt give,
A better lesson Puss' come look at me.
Lift up thine emerald eyes! aye, purr away,
For I am praising thee, I tell thee, Puss,

And Cats as well as Kings love flattery.
For three whole days I heard an old Fur Gown
Beprais'd, that made a Duke a Chancellor:
Trust me, though I can sing most pleasantly
Upon thy well-streak'd coat, to that said Fur
I was not guilty of a single rhyme !
T was an old turncoat Fur, that would sit easy
And wrap round any man, so it were tied
With a blue riband.

What a magic lies
In beauty! thou on this forbidden ground
Mayest range, aud when the Fellow looks at thee
Straight he forgets the statute." Swell thy tail
And stretch thy claws, most Democratic beast,
I like thine independence! Treat thee well,
Thou art as playful as young Innocence;
But if we play the Governor, and break
The social compact, God has given thee claws,
And thou hast sense to use them. Oh! that Man
Would copy this thy wisdom spaniel fool,
He crouches down and licks his tyrant's hand,
And courts oppression. Wiser animal,
I gaze on thee, familiar not enslaved,
And thinking how affection's gentle hand
Leads by a hair the large limb'd Elephant,”
With mingled pity and contempt behold
His drivers goad the patient biped beast.

ROMANCE.

What wildly-beauteous form, Iligh on the summit of you bicrown'd hill, Lovely in horror, takes her dauntless stand? Though speeds the thunder there its deep'ning way, Though round her head the lightnings play, Undaunted she abides the storm: She waves her magic wand, The clouds retire, the storm is still; Bright beams the sun unwonted light around, And many a rising flower bedecks the enchanted ground.

Romance! I know thee now, I know the terrors of thy brow; I know thine aweful mien, thy beaming eye; And lo! whilst mists arise around Yon car that cleaves the pregnant ground, Two fiery dragons whirl her through the sky. Her milder sister loves to rove Amid Parnassus' laurell'd grove, On Iselicon's harmonious side, To mark the gurgling streamlet glide; Meantime, through wilder scenes and sterner skies, From clime to clime the ardent genius flies.

She speeds to yonder shore, 3

Where ruthless tempests roar, Where sturdy winter holds his northern reign, Nor vernal suns relax the ice-pil'd plain:

' The statute that excludes cats, dogs, and all other singing-birds, from the college precincts.

* - Always encounterpetulance with gentleness. and perverseness with kindness: a sentl hand will lead the elephant itself by a hair.--From the Persian Rosary, by Eddin Sadi. Enfield's History of Philosophy.

* Fictions of Romance, popular in Scandinavia at an early pe— drio.

Dim shadows circle round her secret seat,
Where wandering, who approach shall hear
The wild wolf rend the air;
Through the cloudy-mantled sky
Shall see the imps of darkness sly,
And hear the sad scream from the grim retreat:
Around her throne
Ten thousand dangers lurk, most fearful, most unknown.

Yet lovelier oft in milder sway, She wends abroad her magic way; The holy prelate owns her power; In soft'ning tale relates The snowy Ethiop's matchless charms, The outlaw's den, the clang of arms, And love's too-varying fates; The storms of persecution lower, Austere devotion gives the stern command, « Commit yon impious legend to the fires;nCalm in his conscious worth, the sage retires, And saves the invalu'd work, and quits the thankless land; High tow’rs his name the sacred list above, And ev'n the priest is prais'd who wrote of blameless love.

Around the tower, whose wall infolds
Young Thor A's blooming charms,
Romance's serpent winds his glittering folds;
The warrior clasps his shagy arms,
The monster falls, the damsel is the spoil,
Matchless reward of REGNER's a matchless toil.

Around the patriot board, o The knights * attend their lord; The martial sieges hovring o'er, Enrapt the genius views the dauntless band; Still prompt for innocence to fight, Or quell the pride of proud oppression's might, They rush intrepid o'er the land; She gives them to the minstrel lore, Hands down her Launcelor's peerless name, Repays her Trist RAM's woes with fame; Borne on the breath of song, To future times descends the memory of the throng.

Foremost mid the peers of France 4
ORLAN no hurls the death-fraught lance;
Where Duplind ANA aims the blow,
To darkness sinks the faithless foe;
The horn with magic sound
Spreads deep dismay around;
Unborn to bleed, the chieftain goes,
And scatters wide his Paynim foes;
The genius hovers o'er the purple plain
Where Olive no tramples on the slain;
BAY ARpo speeds his furious course,
High towers Rogeno in his matchless force.

Romance the heighten’d tale has caught, Forth from the sad monastic cell,

• Heliodorus chose rather to be deprived of his see than burn his Ethiopics. The bishop's name would have slept with his fathers, the romancer is remembered.

* First exploit of the celebrated Regner Lodbrog.

* Knights of the round table.

4 the Paladines of France.

Where fiction with devotion loves to dwell,
The sacred legend flies with many a wonder fraught;

Deep roll the papal thunders’ round,
And everlasting wrath to rebel reason sound.

Hark! Superstition sounds to war's alarms,
War stalks o'er Palestine with scorching breath,
And triumphs in the feast of death;
All Europe Ilies to arms:
Enthusiast courage spreads her piercing sound,
Devotion caught the cry, and woke the echo around.
Romance” before the army flies,
New scenes await her wondering eyes;
Awhile she firms her Godfrey's throne,
And makes Arabia's magic lore her own.

And hark! resound, in mingled sound, The clang of arms, the shriek of death; Each streaming gash bedevs the ground, And deep and hollow groans load the last struggling breath : Wide through the air the arrows fly, Darts, shields, and swords, commix'd appear; Deep is the cry, when thousands die, When Coeur de Lion's arm constrains to fear: Aloft the battle-axe in air Whirls around confus'd despair; Nor Acre's walls can check his course; Nor Sarzin millions stay his force.

Indignant, firm the warrior stood, The hungry lion gapes for food; His fearless eye beheld him nigh, Unarm'd, undaunted, saw the beast proceed: Romance, o'erhovering, saw the monster die, And scarce herself believ'd the more than wondrousdeed.

And now, with more terrific mien, She quits the sad degenerate scene; With many a talisman of mightiest pow'r, Borne in a rubied car, sublime she flies, Fire-breathing griffins waft her through the skies; Around her head the innocuous tempest lowers, To Gallia's favour’d realm she goes, And quits her magic state, and plucks her lovely rose.;

Imagination waves her wizard wand,
Dark shadows mantle o'er the land;
The lightnings flash, the thunders sound,
Convulsive throbs the labouring ground;

What fiends, what monsters, circling round, arise!”
High towers of fire aloft aspire,
Deep yells resound amid the skies,
Yelad in arms, to Fame's alarms
Her magic warrior lies.

By Fiction's shield secure, for many a year
O'er cooler reason held the genius rule;

But lo! Cenvaxtes waves his pointed spear,
Nor Fiction's shield can stay the spear of ridicule.

'Instead of forging the life of a saint, Archbishop Turpin was better employed in falsif int; the history of Charlemagne. * A bull was issued, commanding all good citizens to believe Ariosto's poem, founded upon Turpin's history. * Arabian fictions ingrasued on the Gothic romance. “Romance of the Rose, written soon after the Crusades. * Early prose Romances, originally Spanish.

The blameless warrior comes; he first to wield
His fateful weapon in the martial field;
Ily him created on the view,
ArcAdiA’s valleys bloom anew,
And many a flock o'erspreads the plain,
And love, with innocence, assumes his reign :
Protected by a warrior's name,
The kindred warriors live to fame:
Sad is the scene, where oft from Pity's eye
Descends the sorrowing tear,
As high the unheeding chieftain lifts the spear,
And gives the deadly blow, and sees Parrhenia die!
Where, where such virtues can we see,
Or where such valour, Sidney, but in thee?
O, cold of heart, shall pride assail thy shade,
Whom all Romance could fancy nature made?

Sound, Fame, thy loudest blast, For Spensea pours the tender strain, And shapes to glowing forms the motley train; The elfin tribes around Await his potent sound, And o'er his head Romance her brightest splendours cast. Deep through the air let sorrow's banner wave! For penury oer Spensea's friendless head Her chilling mantle spread; For Genius cannot save! Virtue bedevs the blameless poet's dust; But fame, exulting, clasps her favourite's laurel'd bust.

Fain would the grateful Muse, to thee, Rousseau,
Pour forth the energic thanks of gratitude;

Fain would the raptur'd lyre ecstatic glow,
To whom Romance and Nature form'd all good:
Guide of my life, too weak these lays,
To pour the unutterable praise;
Thine aid divine for ever lend,
Still as my guardian sprite attend;
Unmov’d by Fashion's flaunting throng,

Let my calm stream of life smooth its meek course along;

Let no weak vanity dispense
Her vapours o'er my better sense;
But let my bosom glow with fire,
Let me strike the soothing lyre,

Although by all unheard the melodies expire.

TO URBAN.

Lo! where the livid lightning flies
With transient furious force,
A moment's splendour streaks the skies,
Where ruin marks its course:
Then see how mild the font of day
Expands the stream of light,
Whilst living by the genial ray,
All nature smiles delight.

So boisterous riot, on his course
Uncurb’d by reason, flies;

And lightning, like its fatal force,
Soon lightning-like it dies:

Whilst sober Temperance, still the same,
Shall shun the scene of strife;

And, like the sun's cnlivening flame,

Shall beam the lamp of life.

• Fictions of Romance, allegorized by Spenser.

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