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Where love chased each fast-feeting year,

Loth to leave thee, I mourned,

For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

Though my vows I can pour

To my Mary no more,
My Mary to Love once so dear,

In the shade of her bower

I remember the hour
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest,

May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:

With a sigh I resign

What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart,

Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:

If again we shall meet

In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

When my soul wings her flight

To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier,

As ye pass by the tomb

Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestow

The splendor of wo
Which the children of vanity rear:

No fiction of fame

Shall blazon my name;
All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear.

October 26, 1806.

Dear simple girl, those flattering arts,
From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts,
Exist but in imagination-
Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polished mirror glance,
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises :
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty :
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,-'tis truth.

July, 1804.


No specious splendor of this stone

Endears it to my memory ever ; With lustre only once it shone,

And blushes modest as the giver.

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SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age

Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ;

Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,

Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; SINCE now the hour is come at last,

Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, When you must quit your anxious lover ; Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Since now our dream of bliss is past,

Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, One pang, my girl, and all is over.

And meet indulgence, though she find not fame.

Still, not for her alone we wish respect, Alas! that pang will be severe,

Others appear more conscious of defect: Which bids us part to meet no more, To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, Which tears me far from one so dear,

In all the arts of scenic action old; Departing for a distant shore.

No Cooke, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,

No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; • Mis Parker.

To-night you throng to witness the debut To these stanzas, which are from the private volume, the following note www attached : " The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for Of embryo actors, to the Drama new: this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection ; but as it was written af Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; an earlier period than the rest being composed at the age of hurten,) and Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly: his first essay, he preferred subunitting it to the indulgence of his friends in present state, to making either addition or alteration."

Failing in this our first attempt to soar, • This poem is inserted from the private volume.

Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.



TO M. S. G.

WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine,

Their hue invites my fervent kiss ; Yet I forego that bliss divine,

Alas! it were unhallowed bliss.

Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ;
But all our dramatis persone wait
In fond suspense this crisis of our* fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each Hero all his power displays,
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze.
Surely the last will some protection find;
None to the softer sex can prove unkind :
Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield,
The sternest Censort to the fair must yield.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavors fail,
Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,

How could I dwell upon its snows? Yet is the daring wish represt,

For that,-would banish its repose.

A glance from thy soul-searching eye

Can raise with hope, depress with fear ; Yet I conceal my love, and why?

I would not force a painful tear.

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou

Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now,

To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?

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No! for thou never canst be mine,

United by the priest's decree; By any ties but those divine,

Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be.

"OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath:
These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue,
We give the palm where Justice points its due.”

Then let the secret fire consume,

Let it consume, thou shalt not know; With joy I court a certain doom,

Rather than spread its guilty glow.

I will not ease my tortured heart,

By driving dove-eyed peace from thine, Rather than such a sting impart,

Each thought presumptuous I resign.

Yes ! yield those lips, for which I'd brave

More than I here shall dare to tell ; Thy innocence and mine to save,

I bid thee now a last farewell.

Yes, yield that breast to seek despair,

And hope no more thy soft embrace, Which to obtain my soul would dare,

All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.


THE FOLLOWING REPLY. S Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth, What though our “nation's foes" lament the fate, With generous feelings, of the good and great, Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name Of him whose meed exists in endless fame? When Pitt expired in plenitude of power, Though ill success obscured his dying hour, Pity her dewy wings before him spread, For noble spirits “war not with the dead:” His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state: When lo! a Hercules in Fox appear'd, Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd : He, too, is fall’n who Britain's loss supplied, With him our fast-reviving hopes have died; Not one great people only raise his urn, All Europe's far extended regions mourn. "These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, To give the palm where Justice points its due;" Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail, Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Whose dear remains in honor'd marble sleep: For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, While friends and foes alike his talents own; Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine, Nor e'en to PITT the patiot's palm resign; Which Envy wearing Candor's sacred mask, For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dared to ask.

At least from guilt shalt thou be free,

No matron shall thy shame reprove, Though cureless pangs may prey on me,

No martyr shalt thou be to love.


THINK'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,

Suffused in tears implore to stay; And heard unmoved thy plenteous sighs,

Which said far more than words can say?

Though keen the grief thy tears exprest,

When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast

Throbb’d with deep sorrow as thine own.

Our. In the private volume, their. 1 Ceneer. In the private volume, critic.

"In the Morning post."-Private colume. For insertion in the Morning Chronicle," was here added in the strate volume.

• Only printed in the private volume. † Printed only in the private volume.

But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in fub
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine,

measure, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd

And quaff the contents as our nectar below. Were lost in those which fell from thine.


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Was my eye 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes TO CAROLINE.


Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm,

could assuage, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe ; On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,

its lightning,
And your eye beams a ray which can never de- With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.

Bat now tears and curses, alike unavailing,
Yet still, this fond bosom regrets while adoring, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight,

That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, Could they view us our sad separation bewailing.
That age will come on, when remembranco, de-

Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight ploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resigna

tion, That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining

Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolabreeze,

tion, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,

In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. "Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my

Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place


Since in life, love and friendship for ever are fled?
Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaimed as the fate of his crea-

If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee,

Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead.

1805. In the death which one day will deprive you of me.

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Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read,

For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee in vain I shall not plead

OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,
In pity for the poet's woes.

With bright but mild affection shine,

Though they might kindle less desire, He was in sooth a genuine bard;

Love, more than mortal, would be thine. He was no faint fictitious flame Like his, may love be thy reward,

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
But not thy hapless fate the same.

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair ;

That fatal glance forbids esteem.

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Your shepherds, your flocks, those farftastical

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move :
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
What are visions like these to the first kiss of


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WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget but to adore thee.
Oh, Memory thou choicest blessing
When join'd with hope, when still possessing,
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is filed and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing trotn
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." .

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are

pastFor years fleet away with the wings of the dove The dearest remembrance will still be the last,

Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

These stanzaa were printed in the private volume, and in the first edition Hoon of Ileness, but omitted in the second. "Those tissues of fancy Moriah. haa wove."-Private volume.

"Your shepherds, your pipes, &c.—Private volume. { "Ob I cease to affirm that man, from his birth," &c.-Private volume.

"Moriah, the Goddess of Folly."

• The last line is almost a literal tmpslation from a Spanish provesti

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