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If with high-bounding pride
He return to his bride, Renouncing the gore-crimsoned spear:
All his toils are repaid
When, embracing the maid, From her eye-lid he kisses the Tear.
Sweet scene of my youth,
Seat of Friendship and Truth, Where love chased each fast-feeting year;
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
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,
In the shade of her bower
I remember the hour
By another possest,
May she live ever blest,
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,
If again we shall meet
In this rural retreat,
When my soul wings her flight
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb
Where my ashes consume,
May no marble bestow
The splendour of woe
No fiction of fame
Shall blazon my name,
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,
Delivered previous to the performance of The
Wheel of Fortune' at a Private Theatre. Since the refinement of this polished 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 to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence though she find not fame. Still, not for her alone we wish respect, Others appear more conscious of defect; To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old; No Cooke, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear ;To-night, you throng to witness the debut Of embryo actors, to the Drama new; Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try, Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly;
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX.
The following illiberal Impromptu appeared in a
Morning Paper. 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.' To which the Author of these Pieces sent the
following Reply. Oh factious viper ! whose envenomed tooth Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth; What, though our nation's foes' lament the fate, With generous feeling, of the good and great; Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name Of him whose mead exists in endless fame?
When Pitt expired in plenitude of power,
STANZAS TO A LADY,
With the Poems of Camoens. This votive pledge of fond esteem
Perhaps, dear Girl! from me thou’lt prize ; It sings of Love's enchanting dream,
A theme we never can despise.'
Who blames it but the envious fool,
The old and disappointed maid ? Or pupil of the prudish school,
In single sorrow doom'd to fade? Then read, dear Girl! with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
In pity for the Poet's woes.
His was no faint, fictitious flame;
But not thy hapless fate the same.
With bright but mild affection shine :
Love, more than mortal, would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair ;
That fatal glance forbids esteem. When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone, She feard that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own. Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk
Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blase; Thy beauty must enrapture all,
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?