And soft unbendings, from the tender charms,
Of the domestic hearth. He felt and lov'd
Th' endearing charities, that weave the band
Of friendship, kindred, and affinity.
The charm of flowing converse, and the grace
Of playful wit, in the gay festive hour,
Rebounding quick, shone eminent in him.
-Benevolent affections, the warm heart
Were his. I well can speak thee as thou art,
O Caulfield, for my drooping soul recalls
The days for ever past, and with them joins,
Th' afflicting moment-the last tender grasp→
The feeble pressure of the clay-cold hand,
Clammy with dews of death-deep, deep the trace
With mighty force is printed on the heart
Indelible by time, the faint adieu,
Slow, interrupted, to the outward sense
Scarce audible-to Fancy's ear resounds
Loud unremitting, with a Seraph's voice
It speaks immortal things; it tells how vain,
The modern dreams of rash Philosophy,
Chearless, unhallow'd, that consign the soul,
With powers divine endued, and capable
Of happiness progressive, to the gloom
Of sleep eternal !-no, I will not think
That faculties like thine were only giv'n
To shine a moment in this bounded span
Of sorrows, imperfections, and despair;
Then sink, confounded with the meanest works
Of Wisdom infinite, with brutes that graze.
Thou art not gone for ever,-these sad eyes,
That now bewail thy loss, may yet behold
Caulfield in glory, if I may indulge,
Unworthy as I am, th' aspiring hope
Of such society, amid the train
Of honest men, that lov'd their native soil;
The virtuous and the just, in scenes remov'd
From human suff'rings, and from human crimes.
There, the full measure of his just reward
Attends the good; and never-fading crowns
Adorn the patriot's brow; nor envy blasts
His fame deserv'd, nor human wickedness,
With human folly, shall combine to foil
The wish benevolent, and pious aim.
Erin, meantime, lament thy Caulfield dead,
With tears of grief unfeign'd, till thou hast shown,
To heal the wounds inflicted by his loss,
And dry those tears, a rival of his worth.
ON A BEAUTIFUL BATH AT SMYRNA.
THE Graces bathing on a day,
Love stole their robes and ran away;
So naked here they since have been
Ashamed in day-light to be seen.
* This Epigram has been imitated by the late T. Warton.
WIDE o'er the drowsy World, incumbent Night,
Sullen and drear, his sable wing has spread!
The waining Moon, with interrupted light,
Gleams cold and misty on my fever'd bed!
Cold as she is, to her my bursting heart
Shall pour its waste of woe, its unavailing smart.
Thro' the long hours-ah me! how long the hours!
My restless limbs no balmy languors know;
Griev'd tho' I am, yet grief's assuaging showers
From burning eye-balls still refuse to flow;
Love's jealous fires, kindled by Aza's frown,
Not the vast watry world, with all its waves, can
drown.
A critical Friend of the Author's seemed to doubt whether a frown kindling fire was just metaphor ;-but since it is poetically orthodox to say, that the flame of love is lighted by the sunny ray of a smiling eye, that of jealousy may certainly said to enkindle from the lightning of a frowning one. There are lurid and dismal fires, as well as bright and cheerful ones.
Slow pass the Stars along the night's dun plain!
Still in their destin'd sphere serene they move;
Nor does their mild effulgence shine in vain,
Like the fierce blazes of neglected love:
But this this pang dissolves the galling chain!
Aza, a broken Heart defies thy proud disdain!
FROM THE GREEK OF JULIAN,
As a garland once I made,
In a bed of roses laid
Love I found; with eager joy,
By the wings I seiz'd the boy;
Crowning then an ample cup,
In a bumper drank him up.
Now along my veins he swims,
Fluttering, tickling through my limbs.
AN easy heart adorns the vale,
And gilds the lonely plain;
No sighs of mine increase the gale,
No peevish tears the rain.
From happy dreams the orient beams
Awake my soul to pleasure,
With cheek that glows, I milk my cows,
And bless the flowing treasure.
To tend the flock thro' summer's day
Is surely no disgrace;
A wreath of leaves from noon-tide ray
Defends my shaded face.
Industrious heed the hours shall speed On pinions gay and light;
The rising thought, with virtue fraught, Shall consecrate their flight.
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