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!
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
OOR 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 earthward still thy moveless head is hung? Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
"Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes?" Or is thy sad heart thrilled with filial pain
To see thy wretched Mother's shortened Chain? And, truly very piteous is her Lot
Chained to a Log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting Green!
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity-best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famished in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend,
It seems to say,
"And have I then one Friend?"
Innocent Foal! thou poor despised Forlorn!
I hail thee Brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!
WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM.
HUS far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme Elaborate and swelling;-yet the heart Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers I ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought
Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know)
From business wand'ring far and local cares,
Thou creepest round a dear-loved sister's bed
With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look,
Soothing each pang with fond solicitude,
And tenderest tones medicinal of love.
I, too, a sister had, an only sister—
She loved me dearly, and I doted on her;
To her I poured forth all my puny sorrows,
(As a sick patient in a nurse's arms,)
And of the heart those hidden maladies
That e'en from friendship's eye will shrink ashamed.
O! I have waked at midnight, and have wept
Because she was not !—Cheerily, dear Charles!
Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year;
Such warm presages feel I of high hope!
For not uninterested the dear maid
I've view'd-her soul affectionate yet wise,
Her polished wit as mild as lambent glories
That play around a sainted infant's head.
He knows, (the Spirit that in secret sees,
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind!)*
That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,—
Prepared, when He his healing ray vouchsafes,
Thanksgiving to pour fourth with lifted heart,
And praise him gracious with a brother's joy!
I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines,
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind,—
it being written in Scripture, Ask, and it shall be given you! and my human reason being, moreover, convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity." S. T. C. 1797.
ELL me, on what holy ground
May Domestic Peace be found-
Halcyon Daughter of the skies!
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptred State,
From the Rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
HEN Youth his faery reign began Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man ; While Peace the present hour beguiled, And all the lovely Prospect smiled; Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And, when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee!
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.
RE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY
THE HOUSE OF THE MAN OF ROSS."
ICHER 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;
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