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 SCISSARS from my sleeve :

And would that at that instant o'er my thread
The SHEARS OF ATROPOS had open'd then ;
And when I reft the lock from Delia's head,
Had cut me sudden from the sons of men!

She heard the scissars 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 spoil'd my Wig!" Westbury, 1799.

LYRIC POEMS.

TO HORROR.

Τὶν γὰρ ποτα εἴσομαι

τὰν καὶ σκύλικες τρομέοντι

Ερχομέναν νεκύων ἀνά τ' ηριά, και μέλαν αἷμα.

THEOCRITUS.

DARK Horror! hear my call!
Stern Genius, hear from thy retreat
On some old sepulchre's moss-canker'd seat,
Beneath the Abbey's ivied wall

That trembles o'er its shade;

Where wrapt in midnight gloom, alone,
Thou lovest 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 see'st the traveller stray,
Bewilder'd 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 wreck'd mariner, where to the roar
Of herded bears, the floating ice-hills round
Return their echoing sound,

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

Or if thy fury form,
When o'er the midnight deep

The dark-wing'd 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 see'st 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 carcase 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 wreck'd 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 heap'd 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 slaughter'd rise ;

Then on his phrensied 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 opprest; 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.

TO CONTEMPLATION.

Καὶ παγᾶς φιλέοιμι τὸν ἐγγύθεν ἦχον ἀκούειν,

“Α τέρπει ψοφέοισα τὸν ἄγρικον, οὐχὶ ταράσσει.

MOSCHUS.

FAINT gleams the evening radiance through the sky,
The sober twilight dimly darkens round;

In short quick circles the shrill bat flits by,
And the slow vapour curls along the ground.

Now the pleased eye from yon lone cottage sees
On the green mead the smoke long-shadowing play;
The Red-breast on the blossom'd spray
Warbles wild her latest lay;

And lo! the Rooks to yon high-tufted trees
Wing in long files vociferous their way.
Calm CONTEMPLATION, 't is thy favourite hour!
Come, tranquillizing Power!

I view thee on the calmy shore When Ocean stills his waves to rest; Or when slow-moving on the surges hoar Meet with deep hollow roar

And whiten o'er his breast;

And when the Moon with softer radiance gleams, And lovelier heave the billows in her beams.