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OCCASIONAL PIECES,

FROM 1807 TO 1816.

ON REVISITING HARROW. HERE once engaged the stranger's view,

Young Friendship's record simply traced ; Few were her words, but yet, though few,

Resentment's hand the line defaced. Deeply she cut-but not erased,

The characters were still so plain. That friendship once return'd, and gazed

Till Memory hail'd the words again. Repentance placed them as before ;

Forgiveness join'd her gentle name; So fair the inscription seem'd once more,

That friendship thought it still the same. Thus might the record now have been;

But, ah ! in spite of Hope's endeavour, Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,

And blotted out the line for ever.

E'er burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine. On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be ; And our sorrow may cease to repine, When we know that thy God is with

thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see:

For why should we mourn for the blest?

EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS OF

SOUTHWELL, A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS. John Adams lies here, of the parish of South

well, A Carrier who carried his can co his mouth well: He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more-so was carried at last : For the liquor he drank, being too much for one, He could not carry off,

--so he's now carri-on.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For others' weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky: 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell !-- Farewell ! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that c'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain

I only feel— Farewell !-Farewell !

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.
When we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss ;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well :
Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met-

In silence I grieve,
That my heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL. Bright be the place of thy soul !

No lovelier spirit than thine

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TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND).

But say, what nymph will prize the flame 1.W years have pass'd since thou and I

Which seems, as marshy vapours move, Were firmest friends, at least in name,

To flit along from dame to dame, And childhood's gay sincerity

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? Preserved our feelings long the same. What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, But now, like me, too well thou know'st

Will deign to own a kindred care? What tries oft the heart recall :

Who will debase his manly mind, And those who once have loved the most,

For friendship every fool may share? Too soon forget they loved at all.

In time forbear: amidst the throng And such the change the heart displays,

No more so base a thing be seen ; So frail is early friendship's reign,

No more so idly pass along:
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,

Be something, anything, but --mean.
Will view thy mind estranged again.
If so, it never shall be mine

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED To mourn the loss of such a heart,

FROM A SKULL.
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.

Start not-nor deem my spirit fied;
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,

In me behold the only skull,

From which, unlike a living head,
So human feelings ebb and now;

Whatever flows is never dull.
And who would in a breast confide,
Where stormy passions ever gloi..

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd like thee :

I died : let earth my bones resign; It boots not that, together bred,

Fill up—thou canst not injure me; Our childish days were days of joy :

The worm hath fouler lips than thine. My spring of life has quickly fled ;

Better to hold the sparkling grape, Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood : And when we bid adieu to youth,

And circle in the goblet's shape Slaves to the specious world's control,

The drink of gods, than reptile's food. We sigh a long farewell to truth;

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, That world corrupts the noblest soul.

In aid of others' let me shine ; Ah, joyous season! when the mind

And when, alas ! our brains are gone, Dares all things boldly but to lie ;

What nobler substitute than wine? When thought ere spoke is unconfined,

Quaff while thou canst: another race, And sparkles in the placid eye.

When thou and thine, like me, are sped, Not so in Man's maturer years,

May rescue thee from earth's embrace, When Man himself is but a tool;

And rhyme and revel with the dead. When interest sways our hopes and fears,

Why not? since through life's little day And all must love and hate by rule.

Our heads such sad effects produce ; With fools in kindred vice the same,

Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
We learn at length our faults to blend :

This chance is theirs, to be of use.
And those, and those alone, may claim,
The prostituted name of friend.

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then scape from folly free?

WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
Can we reverse the general plan,

That I should thus be happy too; Nor be what all in turn must be?

For still my heart regards thy weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.
No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been,

Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart
Man and the world so much I hate,

Some pangs to view his happier lot: I care not when I quit the scene.

But let them pass-Oh! how my heart

Would hate him if he loved thee not! But thou, with spirit frail and light,

When late I saw thy favourite child, Wilt shine awhile, and pass away.

I thought my jealous heart would brcai; As glow-worms sparkle through the night,

But when the unconscious infant smiled, But dare not stand the test of day.

I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. Alas! whenever folly calls

I kiss'd it,--and repress'd my sighs, Where parasites and princes meet

Its father in its face to see ; (For cherish'd first in royal halls,

But then it had its mother's eyes, The welcome vices kindly greet),

And they were all to love and me Een now thou’rt nightly seen to add

Mary, adieu! I must away: One insect to the fluttering crowd;

While thou art blest I'll not repine ; And still thy trifling heart is glad

But near thee I can never stay ; To join the vain and court the proud.

My heart would soon again be thine.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair,

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,

Had quench'd at length my boyish fame :

Nor knew till seated by thy side, That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. My licart in all, -save hope, -the same

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Vet was I calm : I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look ; But now to tremble were a crime

We met, -and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there ; One only feeling couldst thou trace ;

The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake : Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?

My foolish heart, be still, or break.

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.
REMIND me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,

When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,

And thou and I shall cease to be.
Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh ! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd, yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,

As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,

Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say,.

that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam

In rapture's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,

Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless as the mouldering stone,

Which tells that we shall be no more.

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A

NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN sme proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the

pomp

of

woe, And storied urns record who rest below; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have

been : But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Who honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him

alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with dis

gust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Tny smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for

shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; I never knew but one,-and here he lies.

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TO A LADY,
ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING

ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.
WHEN Man, expell’d from Eden's bowers,

A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,

And bade him curse his future fate.
But, wandering on through distant climes,

He learnt to bear his load of grief :
Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.
Thus, lady! will it be with me,

And I must view thy charms no more ;
For, while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew before.
In flight I shall be surely wise,

Escaping from temptation's snare;
I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there.

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT

NAME.
THERE was a time, I need not name,

Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same

As still my soul hath been to thee. And from that hour, when first thy tongue

Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,

Unknown, and thus unfelt by thine, None, none hath sunk so deep as this

To think how all that love hath flown; Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone. And yet my heart some solace knew,

When late I heard thy lips declare, In accents once imagined true,

Remembrance of the days that were. Yes! my adored, but most unkind !

Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find

Remembrance of that love remain. Yes ! 'tis a glorious thought to me,

Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art, or e'er shalt be,

Thou hast been dearly, solely min

Hope was left,- was she not?-but the goblet

we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer has

flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: We must die—who shall not ?--May our sins

be forgiven, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

AND WILT THOU WELP WHEN I AM

LOW?
And wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again :
Yet if they grieve thee, say not som

I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,,

My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine ; And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine. O lady! blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Sweet lady! once my heart was warm

With every feeling soft as thine ;
Dut beauty's self hath ceased to charm

A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again ;
Yet if they grieve thee, say not som

I would not give that bosom pain.

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.

STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING

ENGLAND. 'Tis done-and shivering in the gale The bark unfurls her snowy sail ; And whistling o'er the bending mast, Loud sings on high the freshening blast ; And I must from this land be gone, Because I cannot love but one. But could I be what I have been, And could I see what I have seenCould I repose upon the breast Which once my warmest wishes blestI should not seek another zone Because I cannot love but one. 'Tis long since I beheld that eye Which gave me bliss or misery; And I have striven, but in vain, Never to think of it again ; For though I fly from Albion, I still can only love but one. As some lone bird, without a mate, My weary heart is desolate; I look around, and cannot trace One friendly smile, or welcome face; And ev'n in crowds am still alone, Because I cannot love but one. And I will cross the whitening foam, And I will seek a foreign home; Till I forget a false fair face, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, But ever love, and love but one. The poorest, veriest wretch on earth Still finds some hospitable hearth, Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow May smile in joy or soothe in woe: But friend or leman I have none, Because I cannot love but one. I go—but wheresoe'er I flee There's not an eye will weep for me; There's not a kind congenial heart, Where I can claim the meanest part: Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone, Wilt sigh, although I love but one. To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we've been, Would whelm some softer hearts with woer But mine, alas ! has stood the blow; Yet still beats on as it begun, And never truly loves but one. And who that dear-loved one may be. Is not for vulgar eyes to see ; And why that early love was crost, Thou know'st the best, I feel the most : But few that dwell beneath the sun Have loved so long, and loved but one. Mrs Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth.

A SONG. Fill the goblet again ! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to

its core ; Let us drink!—who would not ?-since, through

life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ; I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye ; I have loved !--who has not ?-but what heart

can declare, That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its

spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends !-who has not?--but what tongue That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,

a Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never

canst change ; Thou grow'st old !-who does not?- but on

earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its

years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to your idol below, We are jealous !-who's not?-thou hast no

such alloy ; For the more that enjoy thee, the more we

enjoy. Then the season of youth and its vanities past, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ; There we find-do we not?- in the flow of the

soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. When the box of Pandora was opend on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirtha

will avow,

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