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For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.


A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?

Who would not die the death they chose ?


And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ; And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.


But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In wo, that glory cannot quell; And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.


Where shall they turn to mourn thee less ?

When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

9, Alas! for them, though not for thee, They cannot choose but

more; Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

weep the



WEEP, daughter of a royal line,

A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine

Could wash a father's fault away!


Weep-for thy tears are Virtue's tears

Auspicious to these suffering isles; And be each drop in future years Repaid thee by thy people's smiles !

March, 1812, FROM THE TURKISH.


The chain I gave was fair to view,

The lute I added sweet in sound, The heart that offer'd both was true,

And ill deserved the fate it found.

2. These gifts were charm’d by secret spell

Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well,

Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

That chain was firm in every link,

But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet-till thou couldst think

In other hands its notes were such.

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Let him, who from thy neck unbound

The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound,

Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

5. When thou wert changed, they alter'd too;

The chain is broke, the music mutę: "Tis past-to them and thee adieu

False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.



THINE eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,

And the wan lustre of thy features-caught

From contemplation-where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,

That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught

With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,

When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent)

The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou—but how much more excellent!

With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue




Tay cheek is pale with thought, but not from wo,

And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow : And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but oh!

While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through thy long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending,

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less.



When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

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