O come and hear the cruel wrongs
Befell the Dark Ladie!*
*

And now once more a tale of woe,
A woful tale of love I sing;
For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs,
And trembles on the string.

When last I sang the cruel scorn

That craz'd this bold and lovely knight,
And how he roam'd the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day or night;

I promised thee a sister tale

Of man's perfidious cruelty;

Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong

Befell the Dark Ladie.

EPILOGUE TO THE RASH CONJUROR.

AN UNCOMPOSED POEM.

WE ask and urge-(here ends the story!)
All Christian Papishes to pray

That this unhappy Conjuror may,
Instead of Hell, be but in Purgatory,—
For then there's hope ;-

Long live the Pope!

1805.

*Here followed the stanzas, afterwards published separately under the title "Love." (Poet. Works, vol. i. p. 145. Pickering, 1834.) and after them came the other three stanzas printed above; the whole forming the introduction to the intended Dark Ladie, of which all that exists is to be found ibid. p. 150. Ed.

PSYCHE.

THE butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name-
But of the soul, escap'd the slavish trade
Of mortal life!-For in this earthly frame
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,
Manifold motions making little speed,

And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.

1808.

COMPLAINT.

How seldom, Friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth, with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits,
If any man obtain that which he merits,
Or any merit that which he obtains.

REPROOF.

FOR shame, dear Friend! renounce this canting strain!
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Place-titles-salary-a gilded chain—

Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain ?-
Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,

The good great man ?—three treasures, love and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath ;—
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night—
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

1809.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN.

COMPOSED BEFORE DAY-LIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY,

BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN.

I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,

I have not once open'd the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.

But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we,
Both night and day, but ill agree:

For days, and months, and almost years,
Have limped on through this vale of tears,
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to-morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;

Though stomach should sicken, and knees should swell

I'll nothing speak of you but well.

But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way.
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing, how very good you are.—
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,

Long months by pain and grief beset—
With three dear friends! in truth, we groan
Impatiently to be alone.

We three, you mark! and not one more!

The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners-
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain!
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could;
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant, as you're good ;)

Yet, knowing well your worth and place,
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stay'd a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still;

Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.

But only now, for this one day,

Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

1809 2

TRANSLATION

OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S METRICAL PARAPHRASE

OF THE GOSPELS.

"THIS Paraphrase, written about the time of Charlemagne, is by no means deficient in occasional passages of considerable poetic merit. There is a flow, and a tender enthusiasm in the following lines (at the conclusion of Chapter V.), which even in the translation will not, I flatter myself, fail to interest the reader. Ottfried is describing the circumstances immediately following the birth of our Lord."— Biog. Lit. vol. i. p. 203.

SHE gave with joy her virgin breast;
She hid it not, she bared the breast,
Which suckled that divinest babe!
Blessed, blessed were the breasts
Which the Saviour infant kiss'd;

And blessed, blessed was the mother

Who wrapp'd his limbs in swaddling clothes,

Singing placed him on her lap,

Hung o'er him with her looks of love,

And soothed him with a lulling motion.