To deathless resurrection. Heaven and earth O thou that readest! take this parable Home to thy bosom; think as I have thought, Which Time, Life, Death, the world's great actors, wrought, While centuries swept like morning dreams before me, What then are time, life, death, the world, to thee? PRISON AMUSEMENTS. WRITTEN DURING NINE MONTHS OF CONFINEMENT IN THE CASTLE OF YORK, IN THE YEARS 1795 AND 1796. PREFACE. HE circumstances to which the following effusions owed their existence were briefly these: - When Montgomery took up his abode in Sheffield, and became the clerk of Joseph Gales, the printer, the heat of parties raged violently; and Gales, as the publisher of the "Sheffield Register," was at the mercy of all the bad passions of the town. This newspaper had a large circulation, which proved fatal to the proprietor by drawing the "notice" of the Government. A letter from a printer at Sheffield, found in the possession of "Citizen Hardy," was falsely attributed to Gales, who sought safety by flight. Montgomery, then twenty-three years of age, reigned in his stead; and on July 4th, 1794, the first number of the "Iris," in succession to the "Register," was published. But his own hour was at hand. For an offence hardly appreciable by judicial analysis, the printing of a patriotic song for a street hawker, he was twice sentenced to the penalties of fine and imprisonment; in January, 1795, and in January, 1796; the first time, a fine of twenty pounds and three months' confinement; the second, six months' confinement and a fine of thirty pounds. The Author, in the original Preface to these "trifles," as he calls them, touchingly says: "These Pieces were composed in bitter moments, amid the horrors of a gaol, under the pressure of sickness. They were the transcripts of melancholy feelings-the warm effusions of a bleeding heart. The writer amused his imagination with attiring his sorrows in verse, that, under the romantic appearance of fiction, he might sometimes forget that his misfortunes were real." PRISON AMUSEMENTS. VERSES TO A ROBIN REDBREAST, WELCOME, pretty little stranger! Now though tyrant Winter, howling, --- Though yon fair majestic river* Hunger never shall distress thee, While my cates one crumb afford; Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes, Then, amid th' enamoured bushes * The Ouse. Then shall I too, joined with thee, Should some rough unfeeling Dobbin, Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin ! Then, poor pris'ner! think of mc, MOONLIGHT. GENTLE Moon! a captive calls: Throw thy veil of clouds aside; Let those smiles, that light the pole, Through the liquid æther glide,—Glide into the mourner's soul. Cheer his melancholy mind; Soothe his sorrows, heal his smart: Let thine influence, pure, refined, Cool the fever of his heart. Chase despondency and care, Fiends that haunt the guilty breast: Conscious virtue braves despair; Triumphs most when most oppressed. Now I feel thy power benign Swell my bosom, thrill my veins; Say, fair shepherdess of night! Unto rills of living light, On the blue ethereal mead; At this moment, dost thou see, On a brilliant beam convey "Blest with freedom unconfined,-- Fancy, too, the nimble fairy, Steals the captive from his cell. On her moonlight pinions borne, From his friends and home again. Stay, thou dear delusion! stay; Beauteous bubble! do not break;- Ah! the pageant flits away : Who from such a dream would wake? THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE. NOCTURNAL silence reigning, |