Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight,

Where hostile MILLIONS Sought my single life; Would storm VOLCANO BATTERIES with delight, And grapple with GRIM DEATH in glorious strife.

Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove,

When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies: What is his wrath to that of HER I love?

What is his LIGHTNING to my DELIA'S EYES?

Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind!

Ye serpent CURLS, ye poison tendrils, go! Would I could tear thy memory from my mind, ACCURSED LOCK,· thou cause of all my woe!

Seize the CURST CURLS, ye Furies, as they fly!

Demons of Darkness, guard the infernal roll, That thence your cruel vengeance, when I die, May knit the KNOTS OF TORTURE for my SOUL!

Last night (oh hear me, Heaven, and grant my prayer!

The BOOK OF FATE before thy suppliant lay, And let me from its ample records tear Only the single PAGE OF YESTERDAY!

Or let me meet OLD TIME upon his flight,
And I will STOP HIM on his restless way;
Omnipotent in Love's resistless might,

I'll force him back the ROAD OF YESTERDAY), —

Last night, as o'er the page of Love's despair
My Delia bent deliciously to grieve,

I stood a treacherous loiterer by her chair,

And drew the FATAL SCISSORS from my sleeve;

And would that at that instant o'er my thread

The SHEARS OF ATROPOS had opened then, And, when I reft the lock from Delia's head,

Had cut me sudden from the sons of men!

She heard the scissors that fair lock divide;
And, whilst my heart with transport panted big,
She cast a FURY-frown on me, and cried,

"You stupid Puppy, you have spoiled my Wig!"

WESTBURY, 1799.

LYRIC POEMS.

TO HORROR.

Τὲν γὰρ ποταείσομαι

τὴν καὶ σκύλακες τρομέοντι

Ερχομέναν νεκύων ἀνά τ' ἠρία καὶ μέλαν αἷμα.

DARK Horror! hear my call!

THEOCRITUS.

Stern Genius, hear from thy retreat
On some old sepulchre's moss-cankered seat,
Beneath the abbey's ivied wall

That trembles o'er its shade;

Where wrapt in midnight gloom, alone,

Thou lov'st to lie and hear

The roar of waters near,

And listen to the deep, dull groan

Of some perturbed sprite,
Borne fitful on the heavy gales of night.

Or whether o'er some wide waste hill
Thou seest the traveller stray,

Bewildered on his lonely way,
When, loud and keen and chill,
The evening winds of winter blow,
Drifting deep the dismal snow.

Or if thou followest now on Greenland's shore,
With all thy terrors, on the lonely way

Of some wrecked mariner, where, to the roar
Of herded bears, the floating ice-hills round
Return their echoing sound,

And, by the dim, drear Boreal light,
Giv'st half his dangers to the wretch's sight.

Or if thy fury form,

When o'er the midnight deep

The dark-winged tempests sweep,
Beholds from some high cliff the increasing storm,
Watching with strange delight,

As the black billows to the thunder rave,
When by the lightning's light

Thou seest the tall ship sink beneath the wave.

Bear me in spirit where the field of fight
Scatters contagion on the tainted gale,
When, to the moon's faint beam,

On many a carcass shine the dews of night,
And a dead silence stills the vale,

Save when at times is heard the glutted raven's

scream.

Where some wrecked army from the conqueror's

might

Speed their disastrous flight,

With thee, fierce Genius! let me trace their way, And hear at times the deep heart-groan

Of some poor sufferer left to die alone;
And we will pause, where, on the wild,

The mother to her breast,

On the heaped snows reclining, clasps her child, Not to be pitied now, for both are now at rest.

Black HORROR! speed we to the bed of Death,
Where one, who wide and far

Hath sent abroad the myriad plagues of war,
Struggles with his last breath;

Then to his wildly starting eyes

The spectres of the slaughtered rise;

Then on his frenzied ear

Their calls for vengeance, and the demons' yell,
In one heart-maddening chorus swell:
Cold on his brow convulsing stands the dew,
And night eternal darkens on his view.

HORROR! I call thee yet once more!
Bear me to that accursed shore,
Where on the stake the Negro writhes.
Assume thy sacred terrors then; dispense
The gales of Pestilence;

Arouse the oppressed; teach them to know their

power;

Lead them to vengeance; and in that dread hour, When ruin rages wide,

I will behold and smile by MERCY's side.

BRISTOL, 1791.