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But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly Hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid sigh for thee!

And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were,
Thy Image may not banished be-

Still, Mary! still I Sigh for thee.
June, 1794.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

ERE
RE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,

Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,

And bade it blossom there,

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY

THE HOUSE OF THE “MAN OF ROSS."

RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards,

Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! Departed Merit claims a reverent tear. Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ;

of

He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer

praise, He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze, Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay, Poured the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass, Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl. But if, like me, through life's distressful scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been; And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought; Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt, And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt !

EPIGRAM.

HOAI
COARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verse

To all, and at all times ;
And finds them both divinely smooth,

His voice, as well as rhymes.

Yet folks say—“Mævius is no ass ;"

But Mævius makes it clear, That he's a monster of an ass

An ass without an ear.

LINES

TO A BFAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.

ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wan

dering near, I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours,
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn),
My languid hand shall wreathe thy mossy urn.
For not through pathless grove with murmur rude
Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ;
Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,
The hermit-fountain of some dripping cell !
Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply
The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh.
The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks,
Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
Launch

paper navies on thy waveless breast.
The rustic here at eve with pensive look
Wbistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread
To list the much-loved maid's accustomed tread:
She, vainly mindful of her dame's comm

mand, Loiters, the long-filled pitcher in her hand. Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast. Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon, Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon: Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Or o'er the rough rock bursts and forms along !

LINES ON A FRIEND

WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY

CALUMNIOUS REPORTS.

EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan, And inly groan

for Heaven's

poor

outcast-
Man!
'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth
If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth,
We force to start amid her feigned caress
Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness;
A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,
And on we go in heaviness and fear!
But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour
The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted

ground,
And mingled forms of Misery rise around :
Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
That courts the future woe to hide the past;
Remorse, the poisoned arrow in his side,
And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied :
Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Darts her hot lightning-flash ath wart the brain.
Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
"Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;
Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies,
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,
And in thy heart they withered ! Such chill dew
Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed;
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,

But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,
Within whose mild moon-mellowed foliage hid,
Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.
O, I have listened, till my working soul,
Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies,
Absorbed, hath ceased to listen! Therefore oft
I hymn thy name; and with a proud delight
Oft will I tell thee, minstrel of the moon,
“Most musical, most melancholy" bird !
That all thy soft diversities of tone,
Though sweeter far than the delicious airs
That vibrate from a white-armed lady's harp
What time the languishment of lonely love
Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow,
Are not so sweet, as is the voice of her,
My Sara-best beloved of human kind!
When breathing the pure soul of tenderness,
She thrills me with the husband's promised name !

1794.

TO A YOUNG ASS.

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race!

I love the languid Patience of thy face: And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread, And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head. But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismayed, That never thou dost sport along the glade ? And (most unlike the nature of things young) That earth ward still thy moveless head is hung ? Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate, Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?

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