There in each breast each active power dilates !
Which broils whole nations, and convulses states :
There reigns, by turns alternate, love and hate,
Ambition burns, and factious rebels prate;
And in a smaller range, a smaller sphere,
The dark deformities of man appear.
Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim,
There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame,
There mild Benevolence delights to dwell.
And sweet Contentment rests without her cell;
And there, 'mid many a stormy soul, we find
The good of heart, the intelligent of mind.

So when forlorn, and lonesome at her gate,
The Royal Mary solitary sate,
And view'd the moonbeam trembling on the wave,
And heard the hollow surge her prison lave,
Towards France's distant coast she bent her sight,
For there her soul had wing'd its longing flight;
There did she form full many a scheme of joy,
Visions of bliss unclouded with alloy,
Which bright through Hope's deceitful optics beam'd,
And all became the surety which it seem'd;
She wept, yet felt, while all within was calm,
In every tear a melancholy charm.

"T was there, Oh, George! with thee I learn'd to join To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep, In Friendship's bands-in amity divine.

Just yield a scanty sust'nance to the sheep, Oh, mournful thought !-Where is thy spirit now?

With thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped, As here I sit on fav'rite Logar's brow,

To see the sun rise from his healthy bed; And trace below each well-remember'd glade,

To watch the aspect of the summer morn, Where, arm in arm, erewhile with thee I stray'd.

Smiling upon the golden fields of corn, Where art thou laid-on what untrodden shore,

And taste delighted of superior joys, Where nought is heard save Ocean's sullen roar ?

Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes : Dost thou in lowly, unlamented state,

With silent admiration oft we view'd At last repose from all the storms of fate?

The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd; Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave,

The fleecy clouds, of every tint and shade, Without one aiding hand stretch'd out to save;

Round which the silvery sunbeam glancing play'd, See thee, convulsed, thy looks to heaven bend,

And the round orb itself, in azure throne, And send thy parting sigh unto thy friend;

Just peeping o'er the blue hill's ridgy zone; Or where immeasurable wilds dismay,

We mark'd delighted, how with aspect gay, Forlorn and sad thou bend'st thy weary way,

Reviving Nature hail'd returning day; While sorrow and disease, with anguish rife,

Mark'd how the flowerets rear'd their drooping heads, Consume apace the ebbing springs of life.

And the wild lambkins bounded o'er the meads, Again I see his door against thee shut,

While from each tree, in tones of sweet delight, The unfeeling native turn thee from his hut:

The birds sung paans to the source of light: I see thee spent with toil and worn with grief,

Oft have we watch'd the speckled lark arise, Sit on the grass, and wish the long'd relief;

Leave his grass bed, and soar to kindred skies, Then lie thee down, the stormy struggle o'er,

And rise, and rise, till the pain'd sight no more Think on thy native land-and rise no more!

Could trace him in his high aërial tour;
Though on the ear, at intervals, his song

Came wafted slow the wavy breeze along;
Oh! that thou couldst, from thine august abode,

And we have thought how happy were our lot, Survey thy friend in life's dismaying road!

Bless'd with some sweet, some solitary cot, That thou couldst see him at this moment here,

Where. from the deep of day, till russet eve Embalm thy memory with a pious lear,

Began in every dell her forms to weave, And hover o'er him as he gazes round,

We might pursue our sports from day to day, Where all the scenes of infant joys surround!

And in each other's arms wear life away. Yes! yes! his spirit's near!—The whispering breeze, At sultry noon too, when our toils were done, Conveys his voice sad sighing on the trees;

We to the gloomy glen were wont to run: And lo! his form transparent I perceive,

There on the turf we lay, while at our feet Borne on the grey mist of the sullen eve:

The cooling rivulet rippled softly sweet: He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe,

And mused on holy theme, and ancient lore, While deathly silence reigns upon the globe. Tof deeds, and days, and heroes now no more;

Heard, as his solemn harp Isaiah swept, Yet, ah! whence comes this visionary scene? Sung woe unto the wicked land—and wept: "T is Fancy's wild aërial dream, I ween ;

Or, fancy-led-saw Jeremiah moum By her inspired, when reason takes its flight, In solemn sorrow o'er Judea's urn. What fond illusions beam upon the sight!

Then to another shore perhaps would rove. She waves her hand, and lo! what forms appear! With Plato talk in his Illyssian grove; What magic sounds salute the wandering ear!

Or, wandering where the Thespian palace roso, Once more o'er distant regions do we tread, Weep once again o'er fair Jocasta's woes. And the cold grave yields up its cherish'd dead; While present sorrow's banish'd far away,

Sweet then to us was that romantic band, Unclouded azure gilds the placid day.

The ancient legends of our native landOr in the future's cloud-encircled face,

Chivalric Britomart and Una fair, Fair scenes of bliss to come we fondly trace, And courteous Constance, doom'd to dark despair, And draw minutely every little wile,

By turns our thoughts engaged; and oft we talk'd Which shall the feathery hours of time beguile. of times when monarch superstition stalk'd,

And when the blood-fraught galliots of Rome Yet grieve not I, that Fate did not decree
Brought the grand Druid fabric to its doom : Paternal acres to await on me :
While, where the wood-hung Meinai's waters flow, She gave me more ; she placed within my breast
The hoary harpers pour'd the strain of woe. A heart with little pleased with little blest!

I look around me, where, on every side, While thus employ'd, to us how sad the bell

Extensive manors spread in wealthy pride; Which summon'd us to school! "Twas Fancy's knell. And could my sight be borne to either zone, And, sadly sounding on the sullen ear,

I should not find one foot of land my own. It spoke of study pale, and chilling fear.

But whither do I wander? shall the Muse, Yet even then, (for Oh! what chains can bind, What powers control, the energies of mind ?)

For golden baits, her simple theme refuse ! E'en then we soar'd to many a height sublime,

Oh, no! but while the weary spirit greets

The fading scenes of childhood's far-gone sweet, And many a day-dream charm'd the lazy time.

It catches all the infant's wandering tongue,

And prattles on in desultory song. At evening too, how pleasing was our walk,

That song must close--the gloomy mists of night Endear'd by Friendship's unrestrained talk!

Obscure the pale stars' visionary light, When to the upland heights we bent our way,

And ebon darkness, clad in vapory wet,
To view the last beam of departing day ;

Steals on the welkin in primeval jet.
How calm was all around! no playful breeze
Sigh'd 'mid the wavy foliage of the trees,

The song must close. Once more my adverse les But all was still, save when, with drowsy song, Leads me reluctant from this cherish'd spot; The grey-fly wound his sullen horn along;

Again compels to plunge in busy life, And save when, heard in soft, yet merry glee, And brave the hateful turbulence of strife. The distant church-bells' mellow harmony; The silver mirror of the lucid brook,

Scenes of my youth! ere my unwilling feet That 'mid the tufted broom its still course took ; Are turn'd for ever from this loved retreat, The rugged arch that clasp'd its silent tides, Ere on these fields, with plenty cover'd o'er, With moss and rank weeds hanging down its sides : My eyes are closed to ope on them no more, The craggy rock, that jutted on the sight;

Let me ejaculate, to feeling due, The shrieking bat, that took its heavy flight; One long, one last affectionate adieu. All, all was pregnant with divine delight.

Grant that, if ever Providence should please We loved to watch the swallow swimming high, To give me an old age of peace and ease, In the bright azure of the vaulted sky;

Grant that, in these sequester'd shades, my days Or gaze upon the clouds, whose color'd pride May wear away in gradual decays; Was scatter'd thinly o'er the welkin wide,

And oh! ye spirits, who unbodied play, And, tinged with such variety of shade,

Unseen, upon the pinions of the day,
To the charm'd soul sublimest thoughts convey'd. Kind genij of my native fields benign,
In these what forms romantic did we trace,

Who were ****
While Fancy led us o'er the realms of space!
Now we espied the Thunderer in his car,

THE FAIR MAID OF CLIFTON. Leading the embattled seraphim to war,

Then stately towers descried, sublimely high,
In Gothic grandeur frowning on the sky-

The night it was dark, and the winds were high, Or saw, wide-stretching o'er the azure height,

And mournfully waved the wood, A ridge of glaciers in mural white,

As Bateman met his Margaret
Hugely terrific.--But those times are o'er,

By Trent's majestic flood.
And the fond scene can charm mine eyes no more;
For thou art gone, and I ain left below,

He press'd the maiden to his breast,
Alone to struggle through this world of woe.

And his heart it was rack'd with fear,

For he knew, that again, 't was a deadly chance The scene is o'er-still seasons onward roll,

If ever he press'd her there. And each revolve conducts me towards the goal;

"Oh! Margaret, wilt thou bear me true," Yet all is blank, without one soft relief,

He said, “ while I am far away, One endless continuity of grief;

For to-morrow I go to a foreign land, And the tired soul, now led to thoughts sublime,

And there I have long to stay." Looks but for rest beyond the bounds of time.

And the maid she vow'd she would bear him true, Toil on, toil on, ye busy crowds! that pant

And thereto she plighted her troth;
For hoards of wealth which ye will never want: And she pray'd the fiend might fetch her away,
And, lost to all but gain, with ease resign

When she forgot her oath.
The calms of peace and happiness divine !
Far other cares be mine,-Men little crave

And the night-owl scream'd, as again she swore, In this short journey to the silent grave;

And the grove it did monrnfully moan,
And the poor peasant, bless'd with peace and health, And Bateman's heart within him sunk,
I envy more than Crosus with his wealth. | He thought 't was his dying groan.


And shortly he went with Clifton, his Lord,

To abide in a foreign land;
And Margaret she forgot her oath,

And she gave to another her hand.
Her husband was rich, but old, and crabb'd,

And off the false one sigh'd,
And wish'd that ere she broke her vow,

She had broken her heart, and died.

And she begg'd they would sing the penitent hymn,

And pray with all their might;
For sadly I fear, the fiend will be here,

And fetch me away this night.
And now without, a stormy rout,

With howls, the guests did hear;
And the parson he pray'd, for he was afraid,

And the singers they quaver'd with fear.

And now return'd, her Bateman came

And Marg'ret pray'd the Almighty's aid, To demand his betrothed bride;

For louder the tempest grew; But soon he learn'd that she had sought

And every guest, his soul he bless'd, A wealthier lover's side.

As the tapers burned blue. And when he heard the dreadful news,

And the fair again, she pray'd of the men
No sound he utter'd more,

To sing with all their might;
But his stiffen'd corse, ere the morn, was seen And they did sing, till the house did ring,
Hung at his false one's door.

And louder they sung for affright.
And Margaret, all night, in her bed,

But now their song, it died on their tongue, She dreamed hideous dreams;

For sleep it was seizing their sense ; And oft upon the moaning wind

And Marg’ret scream'd, and bid them not sleep, Were heard her frightful screams.

Or the fiends would bear her thence.
And when she knew of her lover's death,

On her brow stood the clammy dew,
She thought of her oath, and she thought of her fate,

And she saw that her days were few.

THE ROBIN RED-BREAST. A VERY EARLY COMPOSITION. But the Lord he is just, and the guilty alone Have to fear of his vengeance the lash,

WHEN the winter wind whistles around my lone cot, The thunderbolt harms not the innocent head,

And my holiday friends have my mansion forgot, While the criminal dies 'neath the flash.

Though a lonely poor being, still do not I pine,

While my poor Robin Red-breast forsakes not my His justice, she knew, would spare her awhile

shrine. For the child that she bare in her womb; But she felt, that when it was born therefrom

He comes with the morning, he hops on my arm, She must instantly go to her tomb.

For he knows 't is too gentle to do him a harm:

And in gratitude ever beguiles with a lay
The hour approach'd, and she view'd it with fear The soul-sick’ning thoughts of a bleak winter's day.

As the date of her earthly time;
And she tried to pray to Almighty God,

What, though he may leave me, when spring again To expiate her crime.


To waste the sweet summer in love's little wiles, And she begg'd her relations would come at the day. Yet will he remember his fosterer long, And the parson would pray at her side ;

And greet her each morning with one little song. And the clerk would sing a penitent hymn, With all the singers beside.

And when the rude blast shall again strip the trees,

And plenty no longer shall fly on the breeze, And she begg'd they would bar the windows so strong,

Oh! then he'll return to his Helena kind, And put a new lock to the door;

And repose in her breast from the rude northern wind. And sprinkle with holy water the house,

My sweet little Robin 's no holiday guest, And over her chamber-floor.

He'll never forget his poor Helena's breast;

But will strive to repay, by his generous song, And they barr'd with iron the windows so strong,

Her love, and her cares, in the winter day long. And they put a new lock on the door; And the parson he came, and he carefully strew'd With holy water the floor.

WINTER SONG. And her kindred came to see the dame,

ROUSE the blazing midnight fire, And the clerk, and the singers beside;

Heap the crackling fagots higher ; And they did sing a penitent hymn,

Stern December reigns without, And with her did abide.

With old Winter's blust'ring rout. And midnight came, and shortly the dame

Let the jocund timbrels sound, Did give to her child the light;

Push the jolly goblet round; And then she did pray, that they would stay,

Care avaint, with all thy crew, And pass with her the night.

Goblins dire, and devils blue.



Hark! without the tempest growls :
And the affrighted watch-dog howls;
Witches on their broomsticks sail,
Death upon the whistling gale.
Heap the crackling fagots higher,
Draw your easy chairs still nigher;
And to guard from wizards hoar,
Nail the horse-shoe on the door.

In a little volume which the author had copied out, apparent

for the press, before the publication of Clifton Grove, the song with which this fragment commences was inserted, noder tie title of “The Dance of the Consumptives, in imitation d Shakspeare, taken from an eccentric Drama, written bg . K. W. when very young." The rest was discovered mang his loose papers, in the first rude draught, having, to all pearance, never been transcribed. The song was extractul when he was sixteen, and must have been written about year before, probably more, by the band writing. There » something strikingly wild and original in the fragment

Now repeat the freezing story,
Of the murder'd traveller gory,
Found beneath the yew-tree sear,
Cut, his throat, from ear to ear.

Tell, too, how his ghost, all bloody, Frighten'd once a neighb'ring goody; And how, still at twelve he stalks, Groaning o'er the wild-wood walks. Then, when fear usurps her sway, Let us creep to bed away; Each for ghosts, but little bolder, Fearfully peeping o'er his shoulder.


DING-DONG! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,

Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale,

"Swinging slow with sullen roar." Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay! Ding-dong, ding-dong, calls us away.

Sweet Jessy! I would fain caress

That lovely cheek divine;
Sweet Jessy, I'd give worlds to press

'That rising breast to mine. Sweet Jessy! I with passion burn

Thy soft blue eyes to see; Sweet Jessy, I would die to turn

Those melting eyes on me.
Yet, Jessy, lovely as ***

Thy form and face appear,
I'd perish ere I would consent

To buy them with a tear.

Round the oak, and round the elm,

Merrily foot it o'er the ground !
The sentry ghost it stands aloof,
So merrily, merrily foot it round.

Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Swelling in the nightly gale,

The sentry ghost,

It keeps its post, And soon, and soon, our sports must fail: But let us trip the nightly ground, While the merry, merry bells ring round.

Hark! hark! the death-watch ticks;
See, see, the winding-sheet!

Our dance is done,

Our race is run,
And we must lie at the alder's feet!

Ding-dong! ding-dong!

Merry, merry, go the bells, Swinging o'er the weltering wave!

And we must seek

Our death-beds bleak, Where the green sod grows upon the grave.

SONG. Oh, that I were the fragrant flower that kisses

My Arabella's breast that heaves on high ; Pleased should I be to taste the transient blisses,

And on the melting throne to faint, and die.

Oh, that I were the robe that loosely covers

Her taper limbs, and Grecian form divine; Or the entwisted zones, like meeting lovers,

That clasp her waist in many an aëry twine.

Oh, that my soul might take its lasting station

In her waved hair, her perfumed breath to sip; Or catch, by chance, her blue eyes' fascination !

Or meet, by stealth, her soft vermilion lip.


scends, habited in a sky-blue robe, attended by mours
ful Music
Come, Melancholy, sister mine!

Cold the dews, and chill the night!
Come from thy dreary shrine !
The wan moon climbs the heavenly height
And underneath the sickly ray,
Troops of squalid spectres play,
And the dying mortals' groan
Startles the Night on her dusky throne.
Come, come, sister mine!
Gliding on the pale moonshine :

We'll ride at ease,

On the tainted breeze,
And oh! our sport will be divine.

But chain'd to this dull being, I must ever

Lament the door by which I'm hither placed ; Must pant for moments I must meet with never,

And dream of beauties I must never taste.


The GODDESS OF MELANCHOLY advances out of a deep Dost thou, wan Moon! upon thy way advance

Glen, in the rear, habiled in black, and covered with in the blue welkin's vault - Pale wanderer!
a thick Veil.She speaks.

Hast thou too felt the pangs of hopeless love,
Sister, from my dark abode,

That thus, with such a melancholy grace,
Where nests the raven, sits the toad,

Thou dost pursue thy solitary course ?

Has thy Endymion, smooth-faced boy, forsook
Hither I come at thy command :
Sister, sister, join thy hand !

Thy widow'd breast on which the spoiler oft
Sister, sister, join thy hand!

Has nestled fondly, while the silver clouds
I will smooth the way for thee,

Fantastic pillow'd thee, and the dim night,
Thou shalt furnish food for me.

Obsequious to thy will, encurtain'd round
Come, let us speed our way

With its thick fringe thy couch ?—Wan traveller,
Where the troops of spectres play.

How like thy fate to mine !-yet I have still
To chamel-houses, church-yards drear,

One heavenly hope remaining, which thou lack'st;
Where Death sits with a horrible leer,

My woes will soon be buried in the grave
A lasting grin on a throne of bones,

Of kind forgetfulness.—My journey here,
And skim along the blue tomb-stones.

Though it be darksome, joyless and forlorn,
Come, let us speed away.

Is yet but short, and soon my weary feet
Lay our snares, and spread our tether!

Will greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest.
I will smooth the way for thee,

But thou, unhappy Queen! art doom'd to trace
Thou shalt furnish food for me :

Thy lonely walk in the drear realms of night, And the grass shall wave

While many a lagging age shall sweep beneath

The leaden pinions of unshaken Time;
O'er many a grave,
Where youth and beauty sleep together.

Though not a hope shall spread its glittering hue

To cheat thy steps along the weary way.
Come, let us speed our way!
Join our hands, and spread our tether!

O that the sum of human happiness

Should be so trifling, and so frail withal,
I will furnish food for thee,
Thou shalt smooth the way for me;

That, when possess'd, it is but lessen'd grief!
And the grass shall wave.

And even then there's scarce a sudden gust

That blows across the dismal waste of life,
O'er many a grave,
Where youth and beauty sleep together.

But bears it from the view.-0! who would shun

The hour that cuts from earth, and fear to press

The calm and peaceful pillows of the grave,
Ilist! sister, hist! who comes here?

And yet endure the various ills of life,
Oh! I know her by that tear,

issitudes !-Soon, I hope, I feel,
By that blue eye's languid glare,

And am assured, that I shall lay my head,
By her skin, and by her hair :

My weary aching head, on its last rest,
She is mine,

And on my lowly bed the grass-green sod
And she is thine,

Will flourish sweetly. And then they will weep
Now the deadliest draught prepare.

That one so young, and what they're pleased to call

So beautiful, should die so soon--and tell
In the dismal night-air drest,

How painful Disappointment's canker'd fang
I will creep into her breast !

Wither'd the rose upon my maiden cheek:
Flush her cheek, and bleach her skin, Oh, foolish ones! why, I shall sleep so sweetly,
And feed on the vital fire within.

Laid in my darksome grave, that they themselves
Lover, do not trust her eyes,

Might envy me my rest !-And as for them,
When they sparkle most, she dies !

Who, on the score of former intimacy,
Mother, do not trust her breath,

May thus remembrance me—they must themselves
Comfort she will breathe in death!

Successive fall.
Father, do not strive to save her,

Around the winter fire
She is mine, and I must have her!

(When out-a-doors the biting frost congeals,
The coffin must be her bridal-bed ;

And shrill the skater's irons on the pool
The winding-sheet must wrap her head : Ring loud, as by the moonlight he performs
The whispering winds must o'er her sigh, His graceful evolutions) they not long
For soon in the grave the maid must lie; Shall sit and chat of older times, and feats
The worm it will riot

Of early youth, but silent, one by one,
On heavenly diet,

Shall drop into their shrouds.-Some, in their age,
When death has deflower'd her eye.

Ripe for the sickle ; others young like me,

[They vanish. And falling green beneath th' untimely stroke. While CONSUMPTION speaks, ANGELINA enters Thus, in short time, in the church-yard forlom, ANGELINA.

Where I shall lie, my friends will lay them down, With' what a silent and dejected pace

| And dwell with me, a happy family.
And oh! thou cruel, yet beloved youth,

Who now hast left me hopeless here to mourn, 1 With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies,

Do thou but shed one tear upon my corse,
How silently, and with how wan a face!
Sir P. Sidney. And say that I was gentle, and deserved

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