My hand unnerves her coward soul, Shakes the bright Summer's tropic throne, I drive them to their oozy caves, When bounding from the cloud-crowned steep, I revel on the foaming waves. EDINBURGH. ADELINE. TRANSLATION OF METASTATIO'S "L'ONDE DEL MARE DIVISO." PARTING from it's native main, Glides the wave in ceaseless maze; Aids the river's swelling train; In the fountain's eddy plays: Down the hill, in slow meanders, Ever plaining as it wanders, Murmurs to it's native shore. LINES, Written in the Park of Wentworth-House, the seat of Earl Fitzwilliam, on being told that the oaks on Temple Hill were sown by Lord Milton, when three years old. BY MISS PEARSON. HERE, rosy Light, with purest influence shine, And ye, who weave the woodlands summer-bowers, And calls, with thundering voice, the elements to war. Watch, when the swollen spring o'erleaps its bound And robs their infant roots of fostering mound; Guard their soft buds from mildew's baleful power, And Jove's red bolt in heaven's indignant hour: Nurse, and protect them, till revolving time Where sterling sense shall charm in mild Persuasion's tone! Thus, deck'd with every precious gift of Health, High on the pedestal of Rank and Wealth, Long may he tower, unshaken in his place, Like the Patrician-Oak, his country's strength and grace! 1802. TO THE NEW MOON. ОH stay awhile thy silver horn, Sweet Queen of heaven! thou canst not fir Thou goest o'er the lonely deep To waste thy splendour on the tide, Or on some woody mountain's head, Or on the long Atlantic shore, The realm of trade thy view shall greet, Where busy labour plies the oar, And jostles in the crouded street. Unhonour'd and unnotic'd there, Thou shalt illume the lonely sky: Then why to these dull sons of care, Bright Queen, dost thou so quickly fly? Do these allure thee to the west? The idlest of the idle train, The meanest too, with heart forlorn, He pours to thee his lonely strain, And gazes on thy parting horn. He hails thee as a well known friend, His sad heart lightens in thy rays. But not for man's frail plaints her laws Ah no! tho' once a hero's tongue Unmindful of his ardent prayer, Thou shalt thy steady course pursue, And to each clime alike shalt bear Of light and joy proportion due. Oh could I mount and soar with thee, Far, far above this world of care! And, sailing with thee o'er the sea, Look down upon the nether air! |