WILLIAM KENDALL.

1793.

Mr. Kendall has translated part of Filangieri's work on the Science of Legislation; and he is author of a volume of elegant Poems. He is reported to be a native of Devonshire.

ERE LAURA met my ravish'd view,

My cheek confess'd health's roseate bloom; My soul nor love nor sorrow knew—

How beauty's power hath chang'd my doom!

'Mid lonely glades, with tear-fraught eyes,
Wandering I mourn my secret pain ;
The passing breeze, with lengthen'd sighs,
In pity murmurs to my strain.

Now, lull'd by Hope's elysian smile,
My fears in silent slumber rest;
Now dreams that every thought beguile,
Serenely soothing, cheer my breast.

But ah! too soon my grief returns-
Again tumultuous passions rise;
Again my tortur'd bosom burns ;

And all the dear illusion flies!

R. A. DAVENPORT.

1796.

Richard Alfred Davenport, Esq. was born at Lambeth, in the county of Surry, January 18, 1777. It is from a publication entitled the "Poetical Register," projected by him in the year 1800, and since annually continued, that Mr. Davenport seems principally to derive his consideration as a poet; and from this work are transcribed several productions that enrich the present Series. Formed by the study of our early poetical classics, the diction of this writer is peculiarly calculated for the expression of anatory feelings. He certainly displays, on all occasions, a sweetness and simplicity of style seldom discoverable in the compositions of the modern muse.

In 1800, Mr. Davenport married Miss Wheler, a very beautiful young lady, descended from families respectable for their antiquity and property. To this lady, his IANTHE, many of Mr. Davenport's poems are supposed to refer.

TO *********

Ir from that hour the dewy Morn's bright eyes
On earth first ope, till dull night's spectred-noon-
When, with slow solemn march, the vestal Moon,
And marshall'd band of stars, descend the skies,
Musing to stray, and with repeated sighs,

That speak a heart with saddest woe in tune,
To crave of pitying Heaven alone this boon-
That with fresh bliss for thee each morn may rise!
If those thou lov'st, to hold than life more dear-
To place their image in my heart next thine;

If when thy mild, thy angel-voice I hear, On the soft sounds to dwell-ô Maid divine !— Might claim one tender sigh, one pitying tear ; The pitying tear, the tender sigh were mine.

TO *********.

Aн, me! in vain wild wood, or noiseless dell,
Or frowning steep, with weary feet I trace,
Hopeful, thou sweet Enchantress, to erase
From my sad heart thy firm-enwoven spell.
Vain hope, indeed! for Memory too well

Hath treasur'd up each charm of thy fair face, Thy matchless mind, thy form's transcendent grace; And loves, all else forgot, on them to dwell!

Each blooming flower in silence speaks of thee;
I hear thy voice in each melodious sound;
And as I stray, each lovely form I see,

Thine swift recalls with brighter beauty crown'd!
Alas! what then remains for wretched me,
But still to love-though Fate hath sternly frown'd?

YES, false one, triumph in my woes,
And joy these flowing tears to view!
How just, to wound that heart's repose
That gladly would have bled for you?'

Yet, poor the pleasure thou hast gain'd,
And very soon will it be o'er ;
That bosom, where thou long hast reign'd,
Shall fondly throb for thee no more.

Nor vainly think my tears, my sighs,
Love's still-unvanquish'd pow'r proclaim:
Each drop, that trickles from my eyes,
But helps to quench his dying flame.

ΤΟ

"TWAS not the quick and dazzling glance, That fires and overpowers the soul, And wraps it in delirious trance,

That bow'd me to thy sweet controul :

No! 'twas from eyes of heavenly blue,
A languid, tender, timid ray,
Stealing through lids of darkest hue,
That won me from myself away.

'Twas not the firm, commanding voice, Whose rapid eloquence o'erflows, And seems at homage to rejoice,

That rous'd my breast from dull repose.

No! 'twas the soft and melting tones,
Like nectar dropping from thy tongue,
By which my heart thy empire owns ;
Its every chord to Passion strung.

And while that winning voice I hear,
And while those beaming eyes I see,
Than light, or life, to me more dear,
My bosom's sovereign thou must be !

TO MY RIVAL.

TELL me, poor Rival! tell me why, The fruitless hopeless chase pursuing, TO LELIA'S presence still you fly,

By many a pray'r her favour wooing?

Dost thou not mark how deaf an ear

She turns to all thy soft advances ? Dost thou not mark, what looks severe On thee my Lelia often glances?

In vain her face and form you praise;
No praise of thine, believe me, charms her;
For, firm against each artful phrase,
My ever-present image arms her!

Each gem that Earth's dark caves contain
Did Fate permit thy hand to proffer,
My Lelia still would mine remain,

And proudly spurn thy dazzling offer!

No! never shalt thou triumph o'er

Her heart, for me with passion glowing! One smile of mine she prizes more

Than boundless wealth of thy bestowing.

What madness in thy soul would dwell!
How the detested sight would wound thee!
To see with bliss her bosom swell,

As fond she clasps her arms around me:

To see me on her breast recline,

Entranc'd in more than mortal pleasure; While from her lips she showers on mine Of kisses her ambrosial treasure.

Then soft she breathes the' impassion'd vow"Dearest! no time our bands shall sever; For truely as I love thee now,

So truely will I love thee ever.