THE RESOLVE.1

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM-1809.

My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;

I loved, and was beloved again,
Yet all was but a dream:
For, as her love was quickly got,

So it was quickly gone;

No more I'll bask in flame so hot,
But coldly dwell alone.

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er

My fancy shall beguile,

By flattering word, or feigned tear,
By gesture, look, or smile:

No more I'll call the shaft fair shot,

Till it has fairly flown,

Nor scorch me at a flame so hot;—

I'll rather freeze alone.

1 [Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1808.]

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy,

In cheek, or chin, or brow,
And deem the glance of woman's eye
As weak as woman's vow:

I'll lightly hold the lady's heart,
That is but lightly won;

I'll steal my breast to beauty's art,
And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon blazes out,
The diamond's ray abides;
The flame its glory hurls about,
The gem its lustre hides;

Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine,

And glow'd a diamond stone,
But, since each eye may see it shine,

I'll darking dwell alone.

No waking dreams shall tinge my thought
With dyes so bright and vain,
No silken net, so slightly wrought,

Shall tangle me again :

No more I'll pay so dear for wit,

I'll live upon mine own,

Nor shall wild passion trouble it,—

I'll rather dwell alone.

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,—

"Thy loving labour's lost;

Thou shalt no more be wildly blest,

To be so strangely crost:

The widow'd turtles mateless die,
The phoenix is but one;

They seek no loves-no more will I---
I'll rather dwell alone."

EPITAPH.1

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD.

AMID these aisles, where once his precepts show'd

The heavenward pathway which in life he trode,
This simple tablet marks a Father's bier,
And those he loved in life, in death are near;

For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise,
Memorial of domestic charities.

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble

spread,

In female grace the willow droops her head;
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung,
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung;
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust
Till waked to join the chorus of the just,-

1 [Edinburgh Annual Register, 1809.]

Lo! one brief line an answer sad supplies,

Honour'd, beloved, and mourn'd, here SEWARD lies!

Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship

say,

Go seek her genius in her living lay.