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-Tis she, 't is she herself! she waves her hand! Yet has she fled the life of bliss below,
Soon is the anchor cast, the canvas furl'd; That youthful Hope in bright perspective drew?
Soon through the whitening surge he springs to land, False were the tints ! false as the feverish glow
And clasps the maid he singled from the world. That o'er her burning cheek Distemper threw!

And now in joy she dwells, in glory moves !

(Glory and joy reserved for you to share.)
Far, far more blest in blessing those she loves

Than they, alas! unconscious of her care.
Immota manet; multosque nepotes,
Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula, vincit. Virg.

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WELL may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Look in each other's face, and melt in tears.
Well may you shun all counsel, all relief.
Oh she was great in mind, though young in years!

Changed is that lovely countenance, which shed
Light when she spoke, and kindled sweet surprise,
As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread,
Play'd round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes.

ONCE more, Enchantress of the soul,
Once more we hail thy soft control.
-Yet whither, whither didst thou fly?
To what bright region of the sky?
Say, in what distant star to dwell?
(Of other worlds thou seem'st to tell)
Or trembling, fluttering here below,
Resolved and unresolved to go,
In secret didst thou still impart
Thy raptures to the pure in heart?

Perhaps 10 many a desert shore,
Thee, in his rage, the Tempest bore;
Thy broken murmurs swept along,
'Mid Echoes yet untuned by song ;

Those lips so pure, that moved but to persuade
Still to the last enliven'd and endear'd.
Those eyes at once her secret soul convey'd,
And ever beam'd delight when you appear’d.

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1 The law of gravitation.

1 On the death of a younger sister.

2 In the winter of 1805 11 In the twelsh century William Fitz-Duncan laid waste the 1 Mrs. Sheridan's.

Arrested in the realms of Frost,

Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew Or in the wilds of Ether lost.

The kindred forms her closing eye required. Far happier thou ! 't was thine to soar There didst thou stand—there, with the smile she Careering on the winged wind.

knew, Thy triumphs who shall dare explore ? She moved her lips to bless thee, and expired. Suns and their systems left behind.

And now to thee she comes ; still, still the same No tract of space, no distant star,

As in the hours gone unregarded by! No shock of elements at war,

To thee, how changed! comes as she ever came, Did thee detain. Thy wing of fire

Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye!
Bore thee amidst the Cherub-choir;
And there awhile to thee 't was given

Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears,
Once more that Voice' beloved to join, When lingering, as prophetic of the truth,
Which taught thee first a flight divine, By the way-side she shed her parting tears-
And nursed thy infant years with many a strain For ever lovely in the light of Youth!

from Heaven!

While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,
And the blue vales a thousand joys recall,
See, to the last, last verge her infant steals!
O fly—yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare,
And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.

THERE, in that bed so closely curtain'd round,
Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! Oh hush'd be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams
Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise;
| Till through the shutter'd pane the morning streams,
And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.


AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,

“Say, what remains when Hope is filed ?" (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl's),

She answer’d, “Endless weeping !" Still sit as on the fragment of a world ;

For in the herdsman's eye she read
Surviving all, majestic and alone?

Who in his shroud lay sleeping.
What though the Spirits of the North, that swept
Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept,

At Embsay rung the matin-bell,

The slag was roused on Barden-fell; Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk

The mingled sounds were swelling, dying, Deep in the dust 'mid tower and temple sunk;

And down the Wharfe a hern was flying ; Soon to subdue mankind 'I was thine to rise,

When near the cabin in the wood, Still, still unquell'd thy glorious energies !

In tartan clad and forest-green, Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught?

With hound in leash and hawk in hood, Bright revelations of the Good they sought;

The Boy of Egremond was seen. By thee that long-lost spell' in secret given,

Blithe was his song, a song of yore;
To draw down Gods, and lift the soul 10 Heaven!

But where the rock is rent in two,
And the river rushes through,

His voice was heard no more!
TO —

”T was but a step! the gulf he pass'd ;

But that step-it was his last !
Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight, As through the mist he wing'd his way
By many a torrents shining track she flew,

(A cloud that hovery night and day), When mountain-glens and caverns full of night

The hound hung back, and back he drew O'er her young mind divine enchantment threw, The Master and his merlin too.

That narrow place of noise and strife That in her veins a secret horror slept,

Received their little all of Life!
That her light footsteps should be heard no more,

There now the matin-bell is rung;
That she should die—nor watch'd, alas, nor wept The “Miserere!" duly sung ;
By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore.

valleys of Craven with fire and sword; and was afterwards

established there by his uncle, David, King of Scotland. 2 In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Juline UL. it was long the favorite study of those great men to of Euremond, dyine before him in the manner here related;

| He was the last of the race; his son, commonly called the Boy whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, I

when a Priory was removed from Embsay to Bolton, that it and the Carracci.

I might be as near as possible to the place where the accident 3 Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an happened. That place is still known by the name of the Strid; ancient epigram on the Guidian Venus.-Analecta Vet. Poeta- and the mother's answer, as given in the first stanza, is to this rum, III. 200.

day often repeated in Wharfedale.See Whitaker's Hist. of 4 On the death of her sister.


And holy men in cowl and hood

And while the torrent thunders loud, Are wandering op and down the wood.

And as the echoing cliffs reply, But what avail they? Ruthless Lord,

The huts peep o'er the morning-cloud, Thou didst not shudder when the sword

Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.
Here on the young its fury spent,
The helpless and the innocent.
Sit now and answer groan for groan,

IMITATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET. The child before thee is thy own.

LOVE, under Friendship’s vesture white, And she who wildly wanders there,

Laughs, his little limbs concealing ; The mother in her long despair,

And oft in sport, and oft in spite, Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping,

Like Pity meets the dazzled sight, Of those who by the Wharfe were weeping; Smiles through his tears revealing. Of those who would not be consoled

But now as Rage the God appears!
When red with blood the river roll’d.

He frowns, and tempests shake his frame !
Frowning, or smiling, or in tears,

'T is Love; and Love is still the same. TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. Os thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers

The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.
Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;

As through the hedge-row shade the violet steals, Thipe be the joys to firm attachment due.

And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals;

Her softer charms, but by their influence known, is on she moves with hesitating grace,

Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own She wins assurance from his soothing voice; And, with a look the pencil could not trace, Sailes through her blushes, and confirms the choice.


YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY **** Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame! To thee she turns—forgive a virgin's fears !

Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim :

What most her blushes would conceal ? Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears!

Why lift that modest veil to trace

The seraph-sweetness of her face? At each response the sacred rite requires,

Some fairer, better sport prefer; From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh.

And feel for us, if not for her. À strange mysterious awe the scene inspires;

For this presumption, soon or late, And on her lips the trembling accents die.

Know thine shall be a kindred fate.

Another shall in vengeance riseOer her fair face what wild emotions play!

Sing Harriet's cheeks, and Harriet's eyes; What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend!

And, echoing back her wood-notes wild, Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day,

-Trace all the mother in the child! And seuled sunshine on her soul descend ! Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought!

AN EPITAPH 2 ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST Tat hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers;

Tread lightly here; for here, 't is said, And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught, When piping winds are hush'd around, Gild the calm current of domestic hours !

A small note wakes from under-ground,
Where now his tiny bones are laid.

No more in lone and leafless groves,

With ruffed wing and faded breast,

His friendless, homeless spirit roves ; The sun-beams streak the azure skies,

-Gone to the world where birds are blest! And line with light the mountain's brow:

Where never cat glides o'er the green, With hounds and horns the hunters rise,

Or school-boy's giant form is seen ; And chase the roe-buck through the snow.

But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring

Inspire their little souls to sing !
From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
High on their iron poles they pass;
Mote, lest the air, convulsed by sound,

Rend from above a frozen mass.'

When by the greenwood side, at summer eve, The goats wind slow their wonted way

Poetic visions charm my closing eye; Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;

And fairy scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,

Shift to wild notes of sweetest minstrelsy; From desert cave or hanging wood.

I There are passes in the Alps, where the guides tell you to move on with speed, and say nothing, lest the agitation of the

bould loosen the snows above.

1 Alluding to some verses which she had written on an elder sister. 2 Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.

Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey,
Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight,
Brush from my lids the hues of heaven away,
And all is Solitude, and all is Night!
---Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,
Unsheathes its terrors in the sultry air !
No guardian sylph, in golden panoply,
Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear
Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings,
Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore.
Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings!
-I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more!

AN INSCRIPTION. SHEPHERD, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner, Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst, Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone, Arch'd, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse This iron cup chain'd for the general use, And these rude seats of earth within the grove, Were given by FATIMA. Borne hence a bride, 'T was here she turn'd from her beloved sire, To see his face no more.' Oh, if thou canst, ('T is not far oft) visit his tomb with flowers; And with a drop of this sweet water fill The two small cells scoop'd in the marble there, That birds may come and drink upon his grave, Making it holy!. ..· · · · ·

A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall, shall linger near.

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.

The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 1786. WHILE through the broken pone the tempest sighs, And my step falters on the faithless floor, Shades of departed joys around me rise, With many a face that smiles on me no more; With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave!


SEPTEMBER 2, 1812.
BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone
Ben Lomond in his glory shone,
When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze,
Bore me from thy silver sands,
Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
Where, grey with age, the dial stands;
That dial so well known to me!
-Though many a shadow it had shed, .
Beloved Sister, since with thee
The legend on the stone was read.

The fairy-isles fled far away ;
That with its woods and uplands green,
Where shepherd-huts are dimly seen,
And songs are heard at close of day;
That, too, the deer's wild covert, fled,
And that, the asylum of the dead :
While, as the boat went merrily,
Much of Rob Roy the boatman told,
His arm, that fell below his knee,
His cattle-ford and mountain-hold.

Tarbat,4 thy shore I climb'd at last,
And, thy shady region pass'd,
Upon another shore I stood,
And look'd upon another flood ;s
Great Ocean's self! ('T is He who fills
That vast and awful depth of hills);
Where many an elf was playing round
Who treads urshod his classic ground;
And speaks, his native rocks among, .
As Fingal spoke, and Ossian sung.

Night fell; and dark and darker grev
That narrow sea, that narrow sky,
As o'er the glimmering waves we flew;
The sea-bird rustling, wailing by.
And now the grampus, half-descried,
Black and huge above the tide;
The cliffs and promontories there,
Front to front, and broad and bare ;
Each beyond each, with giant-feet
Advancing as in haste to meet;

AN ITALIAN SONG. Dear is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, And shells his nuts at liberty. In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave, For those that win the race at eve. The shepherd's horn at break of day, The ballet danced in twilight glade, The canzonet and roundelay Sung in the silent greenwood shade, These simple joys, that never fail, Shall bind me to my native vale.

1 See an anecdote related by Pausanias, iii, 20.
2 A Turkish superstition.
3 A famous outlaw.

4 Signifying, in the Erse language, an Isthmus. 15 Loch-Long.

The shatter'd fortress, whence the Dane
Blew his shrill blast, nor rush'd in vain,

Tyrant of the drear domain :

Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, All into midnight-shadow sweep,

Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light; When day springs upward from the deep!! And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Kindling the waters in its fight,

Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. The prow wakes splendor; and the oar,

There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky, That rose and fell unseen before,

Expand and shut with silent ecstacy! Flashes in a sea of light!

-Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept Glad sign, and sure! for now we hail

On the bare earth, then wrought a lomb and slept Thy flowers, Glenfinnart, in the gale;

And such is man; soon from his cell of clay And bright indeed the path should be

To burst a seraph in the blaze of day! That leads to Friendship and to theo !

Oh blest retreat, and sacred too! Sacred as when the bell of prayer Tollid duly on the desert air,

WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. And crosses deck'd thy summits blue. Oft, like some loved romantic tale,

OCTOBER 10, 1806.' Oft shall my weary mind recall,

WHOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Amid the hum and stir of men,

Mark where the small remains of greatness lie.? Thy beechen grove and waterfall,

There sleeps the dust of Fox, for ever gone : Thy ferry with its gliding sail,

How near the Place where late his glory shone! And her-the Lady of the Glen!

And, though no more ascends the voice of Prayer,
Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,

Still, like an awful dream that comes again,

Alas! at best as transient and as vain,
Once more, enchanting maid adieu !

Still do I see (while through the vaults of night I must be gone while yet I may;

The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite) Oft shall I weep to think of you,

The moving Pomp along the shadowy aisle, But here I will not, cannot stay.

That, like a Darkness, fill'd the solemn Pile;

The illustrious line, that in long order led, The sweet expression of that face,

Of those that loved Him living, mourn'd Him dead; For ever changing, yet the same,

Of those the Few, that for their Country stood Ah no, I dare not turn to trace

Round Him who dared be singularly good : It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

All, of all ranks, that claim'd Him for their own;

And nothing wanting-but himself alone ! 3 Yet give me, give me, ere I go,

Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name;

Wont, as He was, to breathe ethereal flame ? One little lock of those so blest,

Friend of the Absent, Guardian of the Dead ! 4 That lend your cheek a warmer glow, And on your white neck love to rest.

Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed ?

(Such as He shed on Nelson's closing grave; -Say, when to kindle soft delight,

How soon to claim the sympathy He gave!) That hand has chanced with mine to meet,

In Him, resentful of another's wrong, How could its thrilling touch excite

The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.

Truth from his lips a charm celestial drewA sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

Ah, who so mighty and so genıle too ?'

What though with War the madding nations rung, O say—but no, it must not be.

" Peace," when He spoke, was ever on his tongue! Adieu! a long, a long adieu! -Yet still, methinks, you frown on me,

Amidst the frowns of Power, the tricks of State, Or never could I fly from you.

Fearless, resolved, and negligently great!
In vain malignant vapors gather'd round;
He walk'd, erect, on consecrated ground.

The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day,

Reflect its splendor, and dissolve away!
APPROACH with reverence. There are those within

1 After the funeral of the Right Hon. Charles James Fox. Whose dwelling place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,

2 Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, etc From them flow all the decencies of life;

- Bossuet. Oraison Junèbre de Louis de Bourbon. Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self

3 Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que celui Admired, not loved ; and those on whom they smile, la qui on les rend.-Ibid. Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,

4 Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ Shine forih with double lustre.

for the borough of Tavistock, March 16, 1802.

5 See that admirable delineation of his character by Sir James 1 A phenomenon described by many navigators.

Mackintosh, which first appeared in the Bombay Courier Jan. 2 At Woburn-Abbey.

Juary 17, 1807.

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