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VALENTINE VERSES;

«■»

ZiZNES

TRUTH, LOVE, AND VIETUB.

THE REVEREN'D RICHARD COBBOLD, A. M.

«IteMr thy Vktker And thy Bfotber, th»t thy days may be loaf is
the Iaa4» wldeh the hoti thy Gpd gfrcth thee."

IPSWICH:
FRINTEa) AND SOLD BY E. SHALDERS.

1827.

THE MEW TOEK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

28437611

A8T0B, USSOX AND

hlden rouxDni.oNs

1 1944 L

JOHN COBBOLD, Esq.

IN ADMIKATION OW THAT DfDUSTKT

AND

FAEENTAL AFFECTION,

WBICB, BBNEATB A KIND FROVIDENCE,

HAS SrPFORTED AND FLACED INDEPBNDANTLT IV THE WOBLD^

FIFTEEN CBILDBEN,

Tni8 WOBK IB DEDICATED,

BIB AFFECTIONATE FOURTEBNTR CHILD,

RICHARD COBBOLD.

TIU PREFACE.

suit, cither in public or private virtue, she most rich-
ly merited the reward. An observant youth, who
never spake his mind openly when living under
his father's roof, but with internal suffering witnessed
every thing, knows well the characters of all who
were in the habits of intimacy with his Mother. For
those who loved her, his very nature feels the most
lively and animated sensations, and the best wish be
can give them is, that they may have their childrens'
blessing to their very latest hour. Often has he
found in those moving in the humbler walks of life,
that veneration for her, which has caused the fear of
gratitude to start, and convinced him, that love is
more pure where art has not been too deeply studied^
nor the fashions of the world too fully introduced.

To the proper understi^nding the nature of the pre-
sent work, this short narrative may be requisite : —
About twenty years ago, the late Mrs.Cobbold, (whose
genius in writing poetry was of such a varied nature,
that scenes of observation or imagination were alike
so vivedly depicted on her mind, she could express
them in measure, lively or not), accustomed herself
to present a few I'mes to each of her more intimate
friends, on the fourteenth of February, or Valentine's
day. By degrees, she extended both the design and
the party ; till, becoming gradually larger and larger,
*t iQcreased to the extent of her society. To give an

PRBFACB. IX

adcqnate description of the rise and progress of the
work^ which actnallj increased in l>eauty to the last
year of her existence^ it is impossible for me as her
son to do ^o, — ^lest, as I sud before, the world might
mppose that it was infatuation on my part, and not
a simple declaration of consistency. Those who
hare had the pleasure to spend the evening of the
fourteenth of February beneath the roof of Mrs.
Cobbold, will speak that truth, upon which at present
I must at least curb my fiery pen. Many, many brave
fellows, quartered in the town of Ipswich, and now
scattered oyer this island, or perhaps over the con-
tinent, should they catch a view of this Introduction,
will feel a pleasure in remembering the day. Ah I my
kind friends, I was but a boy when your gay trap-
piogg caught my eye, and your countenances dwelt
with admiration on thfe productions of my Mother ;
yet few of your features are forgotten, and many of
your expressions remain. She is no more, htd if any
of you sigh to think of her, — her Son says, Ood bless
yoQl

Fbr many a son of war, whom the return list of
dead and wounded have brought to my recollection,
tbe dgh of regret has past, when I remembered that
not long before^ he was one of the gay vbitors at the
Valenthie-Party. Amidst all the regret of days past,
some moments of virtue will rise superior to sur-

X PRBFACB.

rounding cares, and cast a ray of pleasure inexpres-
sibly delightful to a sensitive mind, —

Hoc est
Virere bit, viu posse priore fnii.

Mart. Epic. 23. 10.

Such are the moments of pure gratification which a
Son experiences in remembering the smiles of a
parent, who endeavoured to promote peace and hap-
piness around her. Such are the pleasures attendant
on a reflection upon those days, when the young were
encouraged in the ardour of sincere affection, by the
fondest and dearest ties of society — love, piety, and
friendship.

The plan which Mrs. Cobbold pursued^ was this :
She cut out some subject, cither of invention, art, or
nature, :in a neat and elegant style, generally upon a
folded sheet of paper, so that two designs were execu-
ted at the same time. To these, she wrote appro-
priate lines, — one was to be given away, the other to
be presei ved ; she generally executed from fifty to
sixty of these, and sometimes as many as eighty.
Previous to the assemblage of the party, the subject
to be drawn was neatly enclosed in a half-sheet of
blue demy paper ; the gentlemen's Valentines were
placed in one basket, the ladies' in another; and
when music, dancing, or conversation, had contributed
for awhile, to the harmony of the evening, and per-

ttitied all th« party ta arrive, the flingle kdfei and
gvademeii were eMei ap oae by one^ and reqaested
to draw iheai wbertver they pleaged. The right of
those truly elegant specimetii ei aativd geaiiis, gene«-
ndly fomlshed amaeeaAcnt for tha remaiodef of tbd
evening.

Through all the yem in wfaicb this meaMnrakle par^r
ty has been continued, no two subjects hate been
alike ; so that the productions presented to her chil-
dnn, (viz : a collection of three years works to each)
will ever be a proof of their mother's industry, as well
as eleganoe, ingenuity, and affection.

When M«s. Cobbold died, tb^ thougfhts of many
were towards the good she did ; amongst such, the
remembrance of the enlivening evening of the four*
teenth of February, was a snibject of considerable
feeling, and the thought that with her terminated the
virtue of that day, was motter of sincere regret.

One of her children, however inferior in talent, in
learning, elegance, and the Ars Poeticte, with no
ether esGonragoment than the daring impulse of his
own mind, qnletly sat to work a year after his pa-
rent^a doeeasei and execnted one hundred original
drawiagsi ^^ wrote appropriate lines thereto, but

to do two at once, he had the labour of

Xir PEEFACB.

tretHj acknowledges ; but baTisgf tktrer seen any one
else of equal discernment^ (and not without more
partiality than nature will excuse) of more honesty
and justice of decision^ than his late mother, he must
renture on his own strength, and rise or fall by his
own exertion.

O Mother! could that eye of pure regard,
Which ahoue 80 lorelUy on al} tliy frieDds,
Beam but this once to gratify my soul !
Could that dear hand be cherished in my ohti.
Which often was the token of thine heart.
Extended in affection to thy Son !
O could I see thee look but once again.
And hear thine accents telling me in trutli,
The word of thy delight ! the rippling stream.
The torrent of the mountains, or the sound
Of distant ocean, dashing on the shore—*
The warble of the linnet in the grove.
The song of skylark, or the night-bird's note — •
Would aU want charm { superior to all
The dear lored accents of thy gentle tongue.
Tis all in rain ! thy spirit is above
The littleness of earth, and gone to dwell
Where quickly must thy children too attend,
Hope I to join thee in the land of rest ?
Yea, I do hope it ! and 1 know my hope
Can never be deceived. Beneath that wish.
That purest expectation of delight.
No word of folly, none to court the worst.
The Tery basest passions of the breast.
Though millions waited on the compliment.
Should stamp a wound of infamy on heart
Which lives alone for life. This hand of mine.
Shall not for present ])n)spect of success,
Write those unholy sentiments of ill.
However pleasant to the ears of men.
Which tally against virtue. No ! 1 vow
This hand should cease to dedicate a line.

C //-:'//:J;

PRKFACB. XT

Before toeh wiXUnj shall prosper it.

Tbo' none would read, tbo' every one condemn,

Tbo' name of hypocrite or a ycophant

Tortured mine ear, and rankled in my heart.

That conaciona thought which bids me look to thee,

Throngfa hope of God, shall keep me in the paths

Of pun^ feeling, — ^rirtue, lore, and truth.

To the public I have little more to say, than that
the work, With every sincere apology for its imper-
fections, is only a specimen of my employment during
mj hours of recreation from the duties of my pro^
fession : — the work too of a few months, every line
of which has been executed within the last year.

Go then my work, my first my op'ning fiime.
And say, if COBBOLD may deserve a name.

THE FAREWELL.

FABBWSI.L to the giii of ny heart ! ah! farewell !
That pang may be felt^ which the tongue cannot tell !
The sailor is leaving Old England once more ;
And the giii of his heart must lament on the diore.

Farewell my dear Love, ah ! my bosom will bum>
For prosperous voyage and happy return ;
The clouds, and the winds, and the waters will rise.
And swell my sad heart with anxieties sighs.

Farewell my ddu* maiden f O do not despair.
The waters arc cahn, and the winds they are fiilr ;
My vessel is Hope^ and the Pilot above
Will guide me in safety agun to my love.

Farewell then Farewell! thou art brave, ihou art true.
Dear friend of my heart, my kind sailor adieu !
The boatswain is ready ; the parting is o'er ',
The maiden is left to lament on the shore,

B-

THE HAPPY RETURN-

Ah wekome the form that I see on the shore.
Dear girl of my heart, thou art welcome once more !
The sailor is leaving his boat on the main.
And touching the shores of Old England again.

O welcome my lore ! thou art come ! thou art come!
My heart is delighted, my lover is home,
Tis this I have sighM for, have pray'd for in fear^
Aly sailor's return ! ah ! my sailor U dear.

O welcome dear girl ! all my dangers are past.
The waves to Old England have brought me at last ;
My Hope has been steady ; the Hlot above
Has borne me in safety again to my Love.

O come to my heart then ! for ever be dear !

Thou honest brave sailor, my heart says ^^ What

cheer ! "
He leaps from the boat to the shingle once more,
Ah ! happy return for the maid on the shore.

*i»

THE BOAR HUNT.

A iBimstroiis Boar^ of savage kind ;
Heroey wild, and terribly indin'd
To aeoiir the coaiitry, and lay waste
Whatefer haibs were good and ekaste;
Eitfgved with plnnderingy was seen
To hasten to St. Margaret's Green :
Hit huter there,, with well-tried hounds
AttMik'd him in his pasture grounds.
lUs Boar was Rapine^ had an eye
R^lete with keenest treachery.
And erer watchful, look'd around
In search of riotim he might wound*

Sr Gilbert Honor blew the horn
To hunt the Boar that liappy mom ;
Sir Richard Ardor ran to horse ;
Sir Arthur Onslow came of course ;

Sir Charles Sincerity was there ;
Sir William Bland ; Sir Peter Fair ;
With honest Squires^ a noble train
And ever valiant country men :
Forward they went, ^th hue and cry.
To make the monster Rapine fly.
They soon espied bim as he lay.
Fit object for a fierce affray.
The dogs of breed were never known
To turn their tails } but dashing on
They roused the monster from his bush.
Who darted forth with horrid rush.
Awhile he stood with bristles high.
With mouth of foam and savage eye^
Intent upon the baying pack.
His jaws prepared to make attack.

Heedless, a dog of noble speed

And famous for his ancient breed.

The first advanced, tfao' but a pup ;

The boar attack'd him ; ript him up.

But Courage calmer bay*d him well.

Yet lost his hold, and down he felL

Steady and Stoic now essayed

And flew directly at his head ;

Bravado too received a wound.
And howling fell upon the ground ;

Old Boaster seiz'd him by the tail^
Bat Rapine turn'd and made him fail ;
Holdfast^ a dog of well known strength
And never beaten^ seiz'd at length
The monster's ear, and keeping tight
Hie tender part within his bite^
Each torn that Rapine took> he tried
To keep himself along his side ;
And so annoy'd him ; all the crew
At once upon his shoulders flew :
Candor! Valour! modest Worth!
Virtue I Wisdom ! dogs of birth !
Spencer ! Milton ! Shakspear ! Scott !
Dogs of Spirit without spot.
These and others brave and bold.
Deserving merit kept their hold.
At lengrth the cry firom huntsmen cheer*d
The noble hounds i the Boar was spear'd.
Sir Gilbert Honor had a thank
Prom cv'ry fair, of ev'ry rank :—

Thus honor'd He^ who tries to prove
Hunself the friend of Virtuous Love !

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A SNAKE IN THE GRASS.

tmAKtt in the grass, — is he who lies

in wut for innocence his prey ;

Who, snhde, artful, treach'rous, wise,

If fond of folly and display ;

WI1O9 erer anxious to betray

Wain bat the moment of unguarded foot,

ib take at Innocence his deadly shoot.

Vnwpre the satire noble Sir,

Tis no seyerity to thee :

Ave lOYe and honor thou'lt prefer

To all ilie arts of treachery.

Ilion lor'st in truth ! — But tremble he

Who lurks as renom'd serpent in the grass.

To catch an innocent confiding lass.

A CAT TORMENTING A MOUSE,

Hast ever seen by lawn or house,
A cat tormenting a poor mouse ?
80 long he sports and mocks Ids prey.
The lucky creature gets auray.

In life such monster has been seen
Amimg most fashionable men ;
One, who pretends to heart and mind.
And yet makes sport of woman kind.

O nef«r let such counterfeit
Diqplay thy powers of deceit ;
But shouldst thou win the heart of fiur.
Be fidthful. Sir, as women are.

^Snth pure affection nerer play.
Lest she who lores should get away.
And leave thee, as thou shouldst be left.
Of Lore and tenderness bereft.

THE OPPOSITION.

In parliaiiieDt, as weU as lore

Is opposition good ;
Elidts talent^ and will prove

If law be understood.
Hie laws of Lore and Honor stand
the bulwarks of our land.

The an<nents lor'd Olympic dust.
Were ardent to excel ;

Hie modems, into coaches thrust.
May gallop full as well :

The chariot of ancient day,

Gould never go it in this way.

Who ever lov'd and would not try
To gain his mistress' love ?

Who. ever spur'd by rivalry

Would not more ardent prove ?

■opposition Sir be thine,

Itefisiih voor speed : Be not supine

»*

THE MONARCH OP THE GROVE.

O tell me youths, can aught resemble Love

More fiiithfolly than Monarch of the Grove ?

Behold him noble, bold, majestic, grand.

With eye of Spirit, seeming to command

The furthest prospect of the scene around ;

Refined in confidence on native ground.

He knows no horrors ; fears have not disturbed

His pvre enjoyment ; nothing yet has curbed

That lofty spirit wliich delights to rove.

O'er seenes of grandeur, mountain, plain, or grove,

Unfettered, free, undaunted. Thus the youth

In days of early pleasure, feels the truth

Of joyous liberty, and loves to dwell

On scenes of ecstasy, the lover's spell.

He sees the world, and fancies it his own,

lis full of beauty. Love without a frown.

"ns thus the youth, like Monarch of the Grove,

In fancied liberty, resembles Love.

THE PLOUGHING MATCH.

Has*t erer seen the humble batdi
Of busy plonghmea, when they tfy

Ob gala day, at ploughing matefa
To gain the prize of Viotory ?

Whoerer cuti the Btndghtest lme»

Asraredlyliiat Prise will win.

What heroes starting for a match,

HistideBts would improve.
Here, let him from the ploughman catch

A hint, to win his lore.
Who steers the straightest course in life,
Deserves to have a worthy wife.

WIT AND WISDOM.

Wit aad Wisdom chanced to meet
At tmm, in comer of the street ;

ad came so close^ in contact round,
nat Wit fell sprawling on the ground.
^ I with^ '' said Wit, '' you'd keep the road,
^ And be more sprightly ; you're a load,
^ So deadly heavy, that your knock
^ Is harder, than the hardest block."

*' I knock'd thee down," good Wisdom said ;
*' But get thee up, and don't upbraid.
'< In future, let us if we may,
^ Pursue together the same way,
^ That all may know, and understand,
^ That Wit and Wisdom, hand in hand,
^ Are like true lovers who proceed,
^ The surest, safest way to speed.''

A HEART IN CHAINjS.

Afi ! why Sir is thiB heart enchain'd^
And hung upon the mountain's belt ?

Thi^ all the worid may see it fe^'d
AffiseUen, it had ne?er fel<.

The trareller may truly start.

To iee such fieJiBe and ^tted heart.*

Go! trard on the road to Lore,
There many gibbets thou wilt see^r

Where hearts in misery wiH prove
The FMompenee of treadiery •

fla liaateB cm, but shouldst thou start,
jLsl honor. Sir, eompose rtmie heart.

«7

A GENTLEMAN MAKING HIS BOW.

To be m love ! ah who would be !

If lo7e be what it seems,
The strangest kiad of mystery,

Made up of thoughts and dreams.
Yet strange U seems, we all must prove.
Oar best regard for futhful Lore.

One proYes it thus, by sighs and tears.

Another by his smiles.
Another by his hopes and fears.

Another by his wiles :
But all who loYe in early youth,
WiU prove it best by words of truth.

Some lore to write, and some to speak.

Some know not how to feel,
Some will be wise, and some be weak.

And some delight to kneel.
But write, or speak, or kneel at will,
Yoor word of honor, Sir, fulfil.

This Geotlemaa it seems has felt,
And BOW bis love would tell :

O pray Sir have you ever knelt ?
If so, you know it well.

Go hasten then, and make your bow,

But never alter in your vow.

^' O look around thee, life is full of light,
'' No paiD> no torment ; happiness is thine ;

^ Worlds are before thee ; present to thy sight ;
^^ My spirit your's, thy spirit also mine :

<^ And this for erer ; never shidl we part,

^^ Thou dear Companion of Immortal heart/'

The maiden woke ; the vision too was nigh.
It lingered still, she wished it still to stay ;

One heay'nly smile, a parting farewell sigh.
It vanished quickly on the ur away :

Her heart was heavy. Lady it may seem

A erud story, 'twas the Maiden's dream.

THE ORWELL.

Ths morning is bright, a8 the Kemt of the good.
The sun in his splendor bespangles the flood.
The riyer isbroad, and the waters are clear ;
Ye beaaties of Orwell, to me ye are dear.

The Heavens are pure as the Spirit of Love,
No clouds of obscurity, darken above,
The blue vault on high, is transcendently clear ;
Ye beauties of Orwell, to me ye are dear.

The tinge of the autumn, on wood in the van.
Now changing its feature like age in a man,
Keqps nature in countenanoe lovelily clear ;
Ye beauties of Orwell, to me ye are dear.

The vessel is saiUng as virtue below,
mh winds that are fiiirly propelling the prow.
The waters are dasUng before its career ;
Tt bcMties of Orwell> to me ye are dear.

Ye beauties of Ori^cll ! thou loycliest wave !
Thou River of Rivers, thy comfort I crave ;
Thy tide flowing onward for ever will cheer.
The heart of the Poet to whom thou art dear

Ah long when my song can no longer be sung.
Shall thy beauties be told in the classical throng>
The vii^n shall smile, and the lover revere.
The beauties of Orwell, to memory dear.

THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

Tbb field 6f battle ! Aark, wdat gtoriout found i
Hie noise of cfannon shakes the earth around.
tile misty Tolnmes roll along the plidn
la fillds of darkness. Hark! agaiii! agun!
The deep montb'd guns begin thi hekvy day.
And Havoc hastens on her deadly way.
llie daih of swords, — the muskets rapid flash, —
The horses prancing^— or the buildings crash, —
Hie heary tread of ttoopers in advance
With naked sword, or glittering Polish lance.
Baik ! midst the roar, the dying shrieks preraH^
Hie horrid ctirse, — the heart lamenting widt.— ^
The fif^ten*d horse with rider dadi^d to earth»
With bf^ken rein, or bursting saddle girth.
Here lie the wounded, there, the happy dead ;
Hot0 springs the victor, there, the captive led :
The sound of trumpets, or, the glorious cry
Of onward ! onward ! Death, or Victory I

And this U glory t horrid, horrid fray !
War, death, and derastation make their way.
And mortal! vanish, as a dream of night.
Dispelled and scattered by the morning light.
If this be glory, quickly most it pass.
Fade like a leaf, or wither as the grass^

But Love is Glory ; better, better far.
Than all the visions of successful war.
IVue Love is Liberty ; ah I when will cease
The thirst of conquest ? when be lasting Peace ?
O qidckly come, ye days, when Cbristia.ns prove.
The field of Battle is the field of Love.

THE

MORE HASTE THE WORST SPEED.

*m^

Yowo Hasty gmlloped in tbe Paris

For morning tnm, a dashing sparic,

Wdl booted, spnr'd, and mounted higii

Ota steed of mettle, which, could shy,

lOdi, turn or caper, at his will.

And all accomplishments fulfill—

It chaoc'd, through well placed qptie glass,

He saw approach the &Tored lass

Be long anidety had sought

To win and oonquer. Quick the thought

Of allowing off his noUe steed,

Of galidng from the &ir, the meed

or pndse and intierest. The spur

Was gently tickling him to stir;

Tho emrb, in curve preserv'd his neck.

Ami kept his spirit with a check,

Sdil made Um seem impatient too,

As if he wish'd to rear, or go.

As nearer now the damsel came,
And hope Inspired the rimng flame,
And eyes were meeting in the glance.
His horse in full and perfect prance,
A horrid cnr of bull-dog kipd,
Rai^ from the company behind ;
And flew at Pegasus. The start
Shot hasty foremost like a dart,
With hat and stick and self to ground,
A tragedy for all around :
The spur in stirrup kept the boot,
And thus suspended by the foot.
Young Hasty dangled in the course,
Beside the much afi&ighten'd horse.
Put luckily the worst to tell,
A bruise or so, and all was well.

Thus spake the mauj who stopt the steed,
^ The more of Haste the worse of speed !
young hasty felt it, ownM the truth.
And well observed it through his youth ;
And after, never sought to splash,
For fear of such another dash.

This story told, the moral take,
And keep it for aSieetions sake : —

•»

HofT oft, when anxious for display
We're sure to take the very way.
Which, nnforseen events may tnm
To quick disgrace. Tis thus we learn
To moderate our passions fire ;
And honestly in Love, aspire
To win affection, not by show.
But constant, earnest, faithful vow.
Thus are we likely to succeed.
And keep the pace, the best for speed.

TWO SPANIELS.

Two Spaniels met upon the pier.

With each a word for other's ear ;

Flirt, began with sprightly whine,

** Ah ! how d'ye do ! the day is fine,

** But Tery hot ; prodigious dry ;

^ The air is sultry, and the sky

^' So dear, so bright, without a cloud. —

^ What spaniel's that in yonder crowd,

'' Hast ever seen him ? look again,

'' Let OS attack with coup de main.

^ Come let us see, — haste, let us run !-— -

^ We soon shall meet him, O what fun !

*' I lore to see the stranger's eye

^ Attracted, as we pass him by,

** And hear him follow, see him gaxe ,

'' At once suspended in amaze,

*' At our approach ; and then perchance,

*' To see the fellows ready dance,,

^ How, here and there, he flits among

*^ The bbsy intermingled throng ;

<' Still peeping round, ^th anxious eye

^ To fee if haply, he descry

^ Our forms agtiia ; and, how he wou'd

*^ Endeavour to be understood.

*^ O this ifi fun ! to see and smile,

^* And merrily the time beguile,

<< Till, fairly sated with the play,

" We leave the rogue, and run away."

Fidele replied : — ^' And tliis its fun,
" Pray Flirt be off, go, quickly run,
*^ But run alone ; for, on ray word,
*^ I cannot foolishly afford
'* To take such pains, to be so vain,
'* And make it pleasure to give pain.
*' If yonder spaniel hither move,
*' Attracted, by the force of Love,
** And worthy be, I'd be his bride,
*^ And never never leave bis side,
^* Till life should leave me. Go your way,
^* And bear in memory I pray,
*' The words of one who wishes well,
** Itie motto of your poor Pidele.'

»p

*,^ To win the worthy, kt him see
*' You do not court in levity ;
** But, being courted, try to prove
** Yourself deserving of hb Love."

THE PLEDGE OF LOVE,

Quick the pidsc of flatt'^tfng hctcrt^
When the lOTcr we descry.
Fast approacbfaigr, to impart
Wdcome tale of Constancy.

Slowly beats the fainting hearty
When the lorer bids adieu.
Yet, unwilling to depart.
Breaking off the interview.

Lady haat thon erer known,
Honest word pf such delight^
LoTer, calling thee his own,
ffiriag thee his sacred plight !

Tske, O take the Pledge of Lore.
Ever erer foithfiil boon.
Long may constant Lovers prove
Life is bnt a Honey Moon.

THE HERDSMAN.

Havpt Herdmiaii^ 't»d thy kine^
Oft Ay gnuMy couch rediniog ;
Street contentment may be thine,
TUnCf be Love without repimng.

Natare radles in Sommer'8 day,
Health and cheerfidness restoringj
Oiaring eare and grief away ;
BiddBag yaidsh yain deploring.

FUtfafid Tray beside thee lies,
Fitfent, constant, watchful ever,
TUne be Friradships social ties,
LoTe wUeh Death alone can sever.

Oreel the Herdsman, happy swains,
Oreel him all ye fidtliful yeomen :
8wMt oootentment has no puns.
Be content with peaceful omen.

THE CHAIRING.

EzALTBD thus the members ride,
Elected in their Country's cause.
In England's Honor they have pride^
And merit Britun's just applause.

^ ' O long may Virtue, Wisdom^ Love,
Oar noble Senators adorn.
May those elected faithful prove,
And thus be proudly borne,

ttit Lady^ may thy Lover live,

Exalted in thine eye.

And feel his best prerogative

la Women's Love, and Constancy.

^.i*» '4//.^,*^*i/«/^

THE FATAL APFECTfON.

Young Herbert iov'd ! alas, he lov'd in vain !
A priest of learnings yet he might not woo ;
He felt within the slow consaming pain
And cherish'd passion. He was faithful too,
But one affection had he, that was true ;
Yet truth to tell, the luckless lot was his,
To give another all his earthly bliss.

He lingered long, and wasted day by day.
Still tried to rally, but the heart within
So deeply woonded, slowly pined away.
And wore his frame to nothing. Was it sin
To be 50 pale, so feeble, and so thin ?
Alas ! he li v'd this fatal truth to prove.
That life was nothing when deprived of Love.

In Peter*8 Priory young Hert>ert sate.
In cell that look'd upon the 6ipplng*8 shore^
In times monastic, when the pride of state
Extended finom the Homber to the Nore ;
When Wolsey liv'd, so fiun'd for classic lor^f
And came with mandate i2ighty in its powV,
To quash the Priories at Freston Tower.

That very day, alas I the &ted priest.
The niece of Daundy he was doom'd to wed.
But not to call the midden he Ioy*d best
His own compamon : No; another led
The captive fair one to the chancel's head.
Poor Herbert sad, too often there he dgh'd ;
Of broken hearty that very mom he died.

The tale is true. O never be thy lot
To feel affection fatal to thy life ;.
Mayst thou accept the fidthfol marriage knot.
And know and ch^risb a req^ected wife ;
But think, good Sir^ what agony of strife
That man endures, who feels a fatal flame
Pevour his soul, and devastate his frame.

.J*-

THE PUBL.I€ DINNER.

Tb men of feeling aod of seusc coinMii*!],

Who boast your cultivation of tiic mifid.

Who, long have been the civiliz'd and greaj^,

The pride of England, and of England's state :*-*

Tell mc wh^t think ye ? would the savage race»

Admire om* Dinner, where the strangest trace.

Of talent, wit, barbarity^ and uoise^

Is seen so steady in its equipoise ?

What would the wildest upon Afric*s coast,

Who jom in war-hoop, think of English toast ?

The Chairman rises, ^' Geutleincn fill high,

^' Your smiling glasses, let no light of sky

" Be seen within them. I shall give with glee,

''Hie ladies in a bumper, three times three ! "

No sooner said, then one and all arise,

And, hip!: hip! hip I hurrah J their joy implies,

S«di rappings, tappings, screamings, roarings, yells.

One burst of tumult their affection tells.

Wpo ever sees with' contemplative eye,

Such gentle, elegant, festivity,

And does not join it I Sure the ladies must

Be highly flattered, with the noise and dust

On sach occasions rais'd. But, lady fair.

Some men of state and fashion, true there arei

Who fond of bustle at a dinner shine,

I fear me they will murmur at the line.

And ask what bunness can such man as I

Have thus to sathise. Now let me try.

To smoothe them down. Great Gentlemen^ belieye

I do not mock ye ; but I sadly grieve

To think bow nearly savages, and we

Of C3iristian countries, in our forms agree.

I say no more, yet very much might say. —

Your pardon then^ good (ientlemen, I pray ;

Custom and Fashion so retain their force,

A Christian must not, dare not, stop their course.

Twould not be prudent : — Down to earth that man»

A saint I a-hypocrite ! a Puritan t

Who dares pretend to censure what the voice

Of England's nation, has proclaimed her choice.

But Lady tho' this dinner may pradiUm,
How much the ladies are respected. Fame
Is not so small, the Poet must uot dare, «

At other times to celebrate the fair,
In other way. Your health I shall propose.
In quiet measure, tho' it be not prose ;-~
<<The Poet wishes idl the English Fair,
<< Long life, good husbands, healthy and little care.''

A;.i>...i.,^..,i

THE CHAMOIS.

MB Chomois wild from rock to rock,
I'BouDd lightly o'er the pass ;
Vith certUD foot, the nimble flock
I High seek the mountain gram.
launted, active, bold and free,
e creatures Iotc their liberty.

e youth of ardent fiery brain,
LAmbitious, virtuonst brave,

e chamois, would the height attaio,
L-He highest honon crave :

f seek the aaramit of renown.
And thus oo indolence took down.

e Iiighest point that man can find, *
1 life's uneven road,
lOve of learning, wisdom, mind,
A knoivledge ofhis God.
For Love and Tmth make Christians free,
^Jlie surest safot Uberiy. —

{

^■.4l ^^/i,U. ,^i^/.r.% .

THE SPIDER'S AVEB.

niB spider spies a sprightly fly
^ow flitting near^ and beedlesly $
His web is spread with subtle care.
To eatch his victim in the snare.

Too soon the little creature ta'cn.
Entangled, tortur'd, tries in vain
To make escape ; she sees too late.
Hie horror of her coming fate.

Ah ! then she thinks of happy day.
When sporting in the sunny ray,
TVoe liberty was ber's, to rove.
O'er plains of Innocence and Love.

She sees around her other flies

Enjoying liberty, and tries

Her strength once more to gain the air.

But finds herself involved too far,
1

How many men delight to vtx,
And torture thus the female sex ;
How many fair ones fall a prey.
To vanity in such a way !

Ye maidens, think not I reprove,
O no, I wish ye well in Love ;
And would that Honor always might
Protect ye, as I do to night.

ft9

THE ETES.

So many looks, so many cJiflTrent eyea^

Express variety ; that liOve defies

The ablest Poets, to proclaim what pair.

Do best adorn or beautify the fair.

Some see expression in the darkest blue ;

Sqme like the color of a lighter hue ;

Some pleas'd with hazel, some with darker brown }

Some like them looking up, and others down ;

The large black eye, this vision will delight.

Small, sharp, and piercing, suits another's sight.

Bat various beauties various mortals spy.

Id shape, in colour, or in flash of eye.

But those shine clearest in the Poets sight,

Wbieh speak the spirit fervent. Such, are bri:;ht,

BuVf whole, entire, entranc d, extatic, seen,

la virtue lovely, and in wisdom keen ;

In kindness glist'ning, and in pity clear,

lUl'd with affection, or Compassion's tear.

No woman's eye e'er shines with sweeter grace,

Ibm when expression lightens up her fiace

Gall'd forth by feeling, pious, tender, kind,

The safest proof of Virtue and of Mind.

THE MASQUERADE.

In life how oft are human beings doom*d
To act a eharacter, or part assum'd.
Nature and art oppose each other here,
Man makes the contrast in his odd career ;
Ah ! strange to say, not speaking to npbraid,
life seems with many but a Masquerade.

Beneath the U>na or fashion of the wise.
How oft are hid the foolish in disguise }
Beneath the garb of sanctity, sometimes
A monster corers his audacious crimes.
Here laughs the sorrowful ; there, sighs the glad ;
Fools would be wise ; and wise men must be mad ;
This man will promise, and will ne*er perform ;
In rage one smiles, another calm, will storm ;
Behold my friend, my inmost bosom friend.
Would borrow money, yet will never lend ;
To-day exalted in my kinsman's eye.
To-morrow hated in my poverty.
O see the world ! see vice become a trade I
And tell me, is it not a Masquerade ?

In love how many seek by art, not heart.
To act a seemingly straight forward part.
Vows made and broken, smiles dispersed with frowns.
The conquest gain'd affection one disowns ;
Another glories in attentions paid,
And feigns attachment to deceive the maid ;
One courts for beauty, which he does not see.
Another for attractions not to be ;
The world depicted surely must be made,
A scene of Folly and of Masquerade.

But Lady fear not, think me not so rude.
To write this piece of Wisdom to delude :
Believe me, many real in their Love,
By unaffected manners often prove
Their characters no fiction can compose ;
Their honest hearts affection must disclose ;
Who seek by industry to gain the high
Distinguished honor of sufficiency,
Not that of self, or pelf,— ^^nough to make
A female happy, for affections sake :
May such a man wherever he may grade^
Escape the Folly of a Masquerade.

THE SENATE HOUSE.

O I for the time to come again^
l^th cap^ and gown^ and college.

That pleadng time to fill the brain^
With boolcs of solid knowledge.

Ocomaagdnl ye days now gone ;

I'd do exactly what Fve done 1—

Oft did the sigh escape my heart,
. The secret wish to read ; —
Sage naathematics had their part,

Bot Lore had greater need ;
jUi I Tain the struggle to apply,
horn fcem'd the best philosophy.

Was there no wish to combat then.

For Ugh deserving merit ;
To ezennae the head and pen,

Vnth proper yoaihfnl spirit ?
b mill there was; bat ah ! (his brain
Wm bnsj Is another train.

Newton^ Paley, M^oodhouse^ Locke,
Viucc und Wood^ Equation Bland,

Great senatoiY of Cambridge stock.
Your books were often in my hand ;

But far away my thoughts had flown.

To one who wore a different gown.

But never idle^ day by day.
Some knowledge was attain 'd,

I read, I wrote, I worked away.
But Love was ail I gain'd,

deep regret ! the Wrangler's boon
Perchance were mine, or Wooden-Spoon.

Well, well! contented with my name,
rU be content, the time is gone, —

The Senate House, the seat of fame.
It pleases me to look upon.

Ah ! some who read, will look on Thee,

And surely \viil remember me.

1 say remember, why forsooth ?
Because they usk'd in play,

A drawing from a careless youtb.

To bear in mind that day !
Ye strangers now where'er ye be.
Have ye those sketches ? think of me.

call to mind the glorious fun
To make the problem plain.

To write away, and cry out *' done '' I

And then to write agun : —
A lion, dog, cat, wolf, or mouse,

1 sketched them in the Senate House !

Between the Questions, such the sport.
That entertained my hand ; —

Forgive me. Senators, my fort.
Ye could not understand ;

Or, if ye could, accept the puff,

Twould seem to you, but idle stuff. —

Think not bowe'er I want respect.

But Enyy I have none,
I write with pen and heart erect,

I'd do, now, as I'ye done.
Ye do not doubt me, come and see,
I take in Loye a great Degree.

But youths of spirit work away.

Advance in wisdom daily.
Improve the time without delay,

Mortfdity works fraily ;
In days of Ldfe your spirits rouse.
And think ve of the Senate House.

WOLVES PULLING DOWN A DEER.

This timid deer, punned, and ta'en.

Is Tictim of a treacherous crew.
These wolves are like a sland'rons train

Who've nothing else to do,
Bbt ever hungry, growl and snap, and sneer.
Both hunt and persecute a timid deer.

The first and basest is Pretence,

A wolf of subtle form.
Who, 'neath the garb of Innocence,

Creeps slowly like a worm : •

Hie first howe'er to tell with horrid smile.
The wicked tale of treachery and guile.

Envy, comes next, so glad to see

The prospect of some prey.
She shows her teeth, and seems in glee.

Delighted to betray.
Pride, Hate, Revenge, and Folly follow afker.
With hope of sport, in roars of savage laughter.

O can it be ! that women share

Id sport of 'such a kind ?
It cannot be, for women are

So famed for heart and mind ;
It cannot be, the Poet must be wrong !
Sore Women, never to such crew belong ?

Fair Lady, pardon' me, but I have seen,

I do not tell thee where.
Not here to night, upon the Green,

Such pulling down a deer !
Where'er we sec it, let us, then defy
And justly satirize such infomy.

THE ANT HEAP.

To watcb the ants on summer day,
To see tiiem wind their toilsome wav.
O'er grass and stone, to see them stray.

Say te not this delight ? —
The little creatures seem to play.
One moment run, the next delay,
Noir one by one, so blithe and gay.

They gratify the sight.

The world so large, is like a heap
Where busy ants have burrowed deep.
And rais'd a dome so high and steep,

It seems 'twould never fall ;
But ah ! the world, it will not keep,
I hold It fragile, weak and cheap.
In time will come the fatal sweep,

Will devastate if all.

Hast erer in the ant beap thrust
A stick or stone^ if so, thou must
Have seen the creatures of the dust.

In myriads pouring forth :
Ah I such will be the like, I trust.
When earth dissolyes, and beings must
Arise at summons of the just.

And estimate true worth.

Then thoit and I ! O let us toil
On this our native verdant soil.
Avoid the bustle and the broil.

And gather what we want ;
That love so ready to recoil
At art, or subtlety, or foil.
Which would not injure, rob, or spoils

Yet imitate the ant»

THE KEY.

Tbb key of Love, by virtaous hand,
Presery'd with due regard,

Will keep the heart in safe eommand,
In lock of strongest ward.

The key of Love, is Virtue's self,
The lock the human heart.

The riches stored, no sordid pelf,
No mass of pride or art.

Hie nund is wealth, preserr'd by Love :

Ah ! go Sir to thy store !
Unlock thy heart, and so improve,

AflJBCtion more and more.-—

6he did not ftUM, — 8be neither moved nor wepti
Her hand no token of dismay exprest ;
She saw and heeded not^ but silence kepl»
A sigh alone escaping from her breast,
Bespake a spirit heavily deprest 5
She sat regardless, seeming to be lost
In maze of wonder, whilst her simple vest.
By passing gale, flapt lightly as it tost.
Her did young Allan thus in feeling words accosti^

** O maiden, why thus sadly dost thou sit,
in mood of sorrow, on the Orwell's shore ?
Hast aught afllicted thee ? O tell me it.
Alike our troubles we may both deplore*
O maiden tell me ! — We shall meet no more,—-
To-morrow's dawn will sec me far away
From this my birth-place, swiftly passing o'er^
To land less lov'd, the vast America c
Why this distress ? O lovely maiden, confidently say."

She turn'd her dark eyes from the sparkUng wtere.
And look'd on Allan. <' Can* the world possess.
Or sorrow, such another victim have
As her thou Iook*st upon ? O yes ! O yes f
The world has many. Yet the world's distress
On me sits heavy. Seest thou yender Town !
How sleeps the being, I can hardly guesa^
Who won my heart, yet never gave his own.
False is he now, unfeeling, cruel, haughty, grown.

'^ Whene'er he saw me, he irould look and tmile,
Attentive be, and try ten thoosands ways
To make me feel an interest the while
In all he did ; no words of mortal praise
Coald speak such pleasure, as his anxious gaze ;
Where'er he saw me, ah ! no matter where,
His countenance would brighten with amaxe,
And tell a secret : — But he passes there I
And takes no notice, leaves me, drives me to despair."

^' O leave me, leave me, never mind my lot! "

'* I cannot leave thee till thou tell his name I "

** ffis name ! O no, a traitor I am not,

I would not sully his increasing fame."

Yet here she sigh'd, unwilling to proclaim,

And yet Inreathed softly as the Poet's spell ;

'< His name !— his name ! — his name ! O why for

shame f
His name is ••••««« ! yet, I wish him well !"
Y<raDg Allan told me who it was. — I must not tell.

-*./'/^X--/v J^,' i//,,U

THE INFANT LYRA.

i^^^a^i

Thou lovdy lufiuit ! ne'er in life liaye I

TIdiie equal seen ; thy soul is harmony !

How sweet thy smile^ thy glistening eye so sharp,

As, peeping through the spaces of the harp.

Thou lookst around to catch the welcome meed

Of praise and interest. Thou art indeed

A wonder, not a great one, since so small.

Yet wonderful in Music above all.

My Spirit rose, to see thy little band

Sweep o'er the chords i in spirit^like command.

Call forth the tones of innocent delight ;

O ! I ahall dream of thee this very night !

I lUiik I see tkee with thy look so wild,

80 tweet, ao simple, nature's favored child -,

Onee alrike the lyre, and childhood seems to fly ;

Tby eoul Inspires thee ; and in vain I try.

To think thee as thou art. Can music move

The soul <rfnian to harmony and love ?

Mil '. #s

^^q

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i,ijiliii'iiiiiliilr'*,rfs^i^

MHi

7ft

THE RACE GROUND.

CoKB and haste to the raee grcmnd, come hasten

to-day;
See the hones are off, they are comiDg this way ;
All the people are shonting, now blue ! pink ! now

green I
Was there ever a sight more appropriate seen,

" Ten to one on Lord Jersey ; come, ten Sir to one/'
''Ten to one are great odds, I will take you Sir, done."
See the horsemen and whipmen, and footmen all stir.
Hark ! the dack of the throng, see the stick of the spur.

How intent are the people ! the corner is tum'd.
And the race will be won, but will dearly be eam'd -,
Now the horse is a head, now the filly makes play.
Neck and neck, see them coming; Boys! bowl it away.

Is the Poet a sportsman ? O yes ! ^tis his forte —
Not to bet nor to run to be drawing such sport ;
If a raoer, howe'er, he would certainly yawn.
To be forced to stand still, to be stopt and be drawn.

But before him the world, is the race ground of iife.
He is off for his fltartj lie must struggle in strife ;
For the course is Religion, the prize he may win,
Should he keep his full speed, and at length should
come in.

Then go forward, my friends, like the racer proceed.
Shew your courage, your mettle, your good Christian

q^d;
When provoked unto Love, O be foremost and strive^
If ye wish to be happy, to prosper and live.

fi2

Homer tells us how to fight,
Pliny, how a man shoald write ;
Xenophon, the ancient wars ;
Xenocrates, the happy stars ;
Plays to act, and plays to please.
Writes the fam'd Euripides ;
Go it coachee ! drive away !
Now begins our Holiday,

Bowl along the British road,
Ne'er by lazy spirits trod ;
The stones are all Mac Adamized,
In other words are puhrerixed ;
Horses soon may not be wanted,
Steam their usage has supplanted ;
Coaches, soon in many places.
Go it may, without your traces ;
Drive on coachee, drive away I
Now begins our Holiday !

Many books of ancient schools
Make their readers stupid fools.
Blind the eyes of British youth.
Shut their senses, from the truth ;
Make them think that any man
May be good Barbarian ;

Christian youth ! it matters not ;—
Bnitos, was a man^ I wot ;
Cssar wise ; and Cataline,
No better than onr libertine ;
Horace, when a little mellow^
like a modem merry fellow *,
Go it coachee^ drive away^
Now begins our Holiday.

With song of such like sentiment^
How oft hare you and I^ Sir, bent
Oor course of pleasure to our home^
h time, ah ! never more to come !
Vet Christian now, or Lover true^
To schools of Folly bid adieu.
Come let us hasten on our way.
And now begin our holiday ;
In love and life, for time to come,
let us find our happy home.

GOING TO SCHOOL.

No song to-day^ — the heart has piun ;-^

ne horses trot.-— Tlie |>clting rain^

lAke tears of sorrow^ sad alas I

Rolls heavily adown the glass ?

The youngsters think of home and play.

Of joyous moments gone away. —

The fishing-rody or poney's hack ; —

They startle at the postboy's cracky

As onward urging steeds along,

Ve lifka the far resounding thopg.

A aeeret shudd^r^ call it dread

Of sleeping in the school-boy's bed ;

No dmr mamma^ to say '^ good night " !

Or tender sister to delight ',

No gentle servant to awake

^tb jnerry call^ at morning's break : —

To-morrow's dawn^ the ringing bell,

WUeh sounds as heavily as knell^

WQl bid them rise, and hasten down^
To see the Doctor in his gown ;
Books and ushers^ rod and cane^
O ye terrors^ ye have pain ! —

The youngster's sit, and scarcely break
The ireary silence — none can speak ;
Perchance to count their money o'er.
They search again the purse's store.
And hope to find in midst of grief.
That shining shiUings give relief.
But hold my pen, enough ! enough I
My heart is not so strangely tough.
That even now, that sense of pain.
Does not as forcibly remain.
O yes t deny it can I not,
Nor thou Sir, if thou'st not forgot.
The days of boyhood's former rule
When, journeying from home to school.
The thoughts of pleasures would arise.
And all the school-boy *s cruelties.
But now advanced in years of youth.
Come tell me truly, if forsooth.
There can be greater grief than this,
To leave, the home of Lover's bliss ;
To bid farewell to days of pleasure.
Woman's heart, the human treasure.

O should Life engage thine eye.
Inviting thee, the world to try^
Believe it true, that vice will never
Make thee sensible or clever ; —
The school-boy feels not half the pain',
A. man of conscience does in stain ;
Nor half the grief his senses know.
As he who feels for others woe.
Believe it true ! — a constant rule !
That Love is ever the best school ;
For never need'st thou leave thy home.
In search of Happiness to come.
Since every Christian youth may prove.
The heart is school and Home of Love«

, .

• f

THE POIN'T.

VoM^ Panto i Tolio I steady Carlo^ toho t
^ ftaj walk up Sir I walk up, or the game will be gone^
Ihi M, Dog will not more Sir, pray speedily go,
OrjoaTl not get 6 shot ; or, if any^ but one.

Old PSonto's in earnest ; no wag of his iail^
No dimbt of the game^ Sir, he's not at a lark ;-^
Be nerer decdves me, he nerer can fail ;*•
Uko aim with precision, consider your mark*

, Now see the keen Sportsman in breathless Suspense,
MofCi forward in haste, stirring every joint ;
He looks for the game — Has it got to the fence ?

. 81BI Ponto's in earnest— he's come to the Point.

. BttI die Point I must come to, ye Sportsmen, is this,
^ V JB aedL bat affection with half as much zeal,
'.:Y% will oertidnly find matrimonial bliss,
V li tlie best point to fome to, the best for your weal.

■ I
I

Jiw. .;■««'-/ .-^^'f-..

,A LADY MAKING AN IMPRESSION.

wonldst thou make impression good,
. liet not the wax grow cold ;
PtaTj Lady, be it understood,

Imprestions cannot hold.
When once the chilling mould

Applied to wax grown old.
Be not adi^ted as it should.

Bat, Lady, when the flame

Has soften'd down the same,
Ek ctaming blasts have blown.

And made it hard as stone.
Imp re ssi ons stampt by virtuous Love,
win erer lasting, ever constant prove.

FUr maiden, take thy seal,

And make impression good :—
May fiutbfulness reveal

The truth, aflfection should ;
Thy hand bestow'd where honest worth is shewn,
Mbj such impression every where be known.

THE STEAM PACKET.

Tbb ateftmer moving on the stream.
By force compulsive driven,

PeikapSy fti> argument may seem
Agidnsl afiection given.

Bat pray Sir, why ? because if art,
Can thus o'er nature steer ;

WOt thou infer, the human heart.
May conquer, insincere ?

Hm argument, will not apply ;—
Man's art may much subdue t

lit LoTCy in pure dncerity.
Can conquer and lieep true. —

O^er natorci art may so prevail.
The barh 'gainst wind and tide.

May move without the help of sail,
Bpt will It safely glide ?

Who keeps the storm ! who governs all !

Who smiles at human art ?
Who bids the ocean at his call.

From deepest fiithom start ?

^s nature's God, and God is Lore,
Then pray Sir tell me plainly.

If all our efforts would not prove.
Without him, we work yainly ?

Go hasten to the " Ipswich '' bark.

O'er sweetest river glide !
The Orwell, and its beauties mark^

At mom, or even-tide I

The packet waits, and hast thou love.
Of truth with heart and mind.

In safety thou wilt surely move.
And pure affection find.

His composition is so strangely fiill

or varied matter, that no common rule,—*

Except this one, tliat from his very birth

He is the most inexplicable earth,—

Will serve for guidance. Yet there is a waj

By whicli he may be known ; and science may

Be greatly benefitted by this plan.

If every man would study, each, his man.

For surely thus, Geologists would prove.

The matrix of all matter must be Love.

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THE HERMIT.

IkiBP la %hm shade^ obscured from life^

The i^iis Hermit kneeb,
Di^fotled with the world and strife^

Derotion all he feels ;
Wrom mom to eye^ the fervent prayer^
b an his pleasure and his care.

8ayy has the Hermit charms for thee ?

la soBlade and peace^
Woddsi thou consent the world to flee^

Aad life In such recess ?
O Udff let the worU's wide stage,

bat to ihee a Hermitage.

».

QJPir.lb may he as truly sweet,
/^Irjaaij^etyas warm,
Ifc^Wiidisr of hall, or crowded street,
t; . Vlove but give tlie charm :
"MlM U rt hn ^y, can never be
rA.ffoofof Love or Piety.

THE TORRENT.

B torrent foaming, bunts along,
e Hero's love, or Poet's aong,
ft obstacle can stop its speed,
D force compelliDg force, impede ;
Kdashes far and wide the spray,
t rocks and passes finds a way.

I noble spirit, bold and free,
kylive to find its liberty;

d torrent-like, may speed along.
O'er vice and folly's ^ded throng ;
Prom Crystal Foot, of purest source.
May steer a new and noble course ;
May spurn the obstacles of pride.
And reach tbc Ocean's Bowing tide ;
Bat stream pursuing sucb a course,
1» Rock of Lore, must take its Source.

101

THE WATER PARTY.

lordy day ! the River's flowing tide,
Htt ifaone 60 brightly in the Poet's eye ;
The son in splendor, o'er the Heaven's wide,
IXqilay'd bis beams upon our revelry ;
TUs loTdy day, in vessel named the Fly,
We've flown delightfully o'er Orwell's stream.
With cheerful hearts, in midst of lively dream.

The dream Is o'er, — ^yet fancy still retains
The sweet remembrance of the pleasant hours.
Nor ought of care, or ought of pain remains,
Td foDy our delight. Sweet peaceful pow'rs,
Ihw mortal pleasure, has indeed been our's ;
If happiness the cheerful heart can have.
We found It with us, on the Orwell's wave.

102

The morn was bright, the breezes fairly blevr,

The sail swell*d gently with the fav'ring wind.

As from the port of Ipswich we withdrew.

And left our homes, and kindred far behind :

The treat was great, for fiiendship, heart, and mind ;

We felt enchanted with the Orwell's tide.

With lovely nature, and with love beside.

Beneath the battlements of Landguard-Fort,
We wandered playfully the time away.
And found that pleasure of a cheering sort.
Which says, be thankful and enjoy the day :
Good hearts of gratitude may truly say.
To-day 19^' ve seen that Orwell's wave delights
The hewli^ of virtuous and happy wights.

Returning home, declining evening brown.
Midst floating clouds reflected on the stream ;
The mistj diadows spreading o'er tlie Town
Made dackness visible. Phosphoric gleam.
Of vessel moving in the twilight beam.
Ran here and there, a sparkling vivid light.
O'er OrwcU's waters, at the approach of nigbt.

103

A band of music, playing " Home sweet Home " !

With friends and townsmen meeting on the tide ;

Some came in boats to welcome us, and some

In varied parties on the Rirer's side ;

I write with pleasure, far away false pride.

With hearts of thankfulness we joy'd to sing

The Briton's anthem, 'twas ^' God save the King '' !

long, dear Ipswich, may thy cheerful smile.

Greet friends and faithful fur ones on the wave ;—

May those be happy, who, avoiding guile.

Steer the stnught course, and would not think to crave

A moment's pleasure others cannot have.

Dear Ipswich I Orwell ! banks I my native place !

Pear friends, and Christians, thus my Love I trace.

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GSSAR PASSING THE RUBICON.

iunu ! dread Ambition ! Pause thou horrid fiend

' civil diseord I Caesar paus'd awhile ;

not to think, but urge his soldiers on.

ang with offended honor, Pompey's pride,

tbals at home, and jealousies within ;

le Hero's wrongs were magnified to crime

ssentment, rage, and passion had inflam'd

'm Boble Spirit. He but saw in Rome

le otijject of his aim. To conquer worlds,

id yet be -subject to the will of one,

I more, and not so much a conqucrer !

» conquer Worlds, and be in Rome denied ;

no ! it was not Caesar ! He, or nought,

le first, or last ! or Victory, or Death !

5mr was Caesar, at the Rubicon.

Tis mighty well : let Caesar be a king,
id those who like it, imitate his step ;
idst thou, or I, been leader of the host
lat Cesar was, and seen as Roman did,

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107

THE SPECTRE.

Ghosts, gdblios, spectres, shades, & shapeless forms.

Terrific yisitors of midnight how*.
Come lather ! come, ye, h^bingers of storms.

And shoipr yomr bees, and reveal yoi^r pow'r.
Ron Ladies ! ran, for hither comes I ween,
Tlye hoprnd /Spectre of St. Margaret's GrecQ,

WUk ftnns extended see it moves along.
Its eye-ball flashing with the burst of fire.

It looks at once o'er all the b^sy thrpng.
Intent pn noncp Pear Ladies, don't respire,

Ifar fear it hear ye ; and conceive your sigh,

A certain proof of inttncerity.

It moves wi^ cantion, slowly paces round,
Wlih step so solemn^ all are fiU'd with fear ;

It looks in vain, no lady can be found.
Of fidile heart of fpUy, seated near ;

Now gilding on, it passes in the dark.

And leaves the Green, to winder h thf^ Pi^r)^*

All Ghosts and goblins^ are but silly things.
Like this invention of the busy brain^ —

But Lady, Spectre of Coquetry, springs
From conscious pride of beanty> ginog pain ;

May no such Spectre ever t^ait on thee

Disturb thy slumbers, or thy harmony.

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FRESTON TOWER.

Lftdj, this Tower^ by the Orwett is sUui^ng^,
Tiew of landj wood^ and water commanding ;
inll the maidens of Ipswich discover,
comiWided tL Hew of a desperate Lover*

Hiitory^s page let tbe cifilonis wandef,
iwnSL on the feats of the far fam'd Leander }
than he, from the Alveshbome side,
to conquer, and merit the loveliest bride*

iooo if my time and my talents have power,
htdj sbait learn, the strange tale of this Tower;
1m tfM nean time behold it, a building of pleasure,
O0 and tisit the turret, and con it at leisure.

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113

THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS.

Gnfim Triampbant must have courted Trath^

nurongh toil and trouble* Men may dare the steep^

And start in: boy-hood up the long ascent.

Bat fiew will reach the summit of renown.

Bow many try, but go not heart and soul,

Uadaootody fiBariess ; more encouraged fiEir

Bf froqipni q^poirition, than by praise.

Mjm Hun^^at the onset, lift the hand,

^IM point to honor, and courageous seem.

Mil dUnking of the steps they have to take.

M im adfaneing, see the youths begin,

Hw toilMHne jonmey. One with quiet mien,

Anodicr 3iHth a hasty awkward gait ;

OjM bm few steps advane'd, betliinks himself,

Plfw fiK^b to proceed, when house and home,

■MBtary mansion, and estate, .

ittrail his eomittg at the age of man :—
a

114

Honor is pleasant^ but it seems to him,

That all who seek it^ aim at present good— «

Possession of the competence he has —

And so content, he seats himself at ease.

In promise of the title in bis i^etir.

One farther goes : by unexpected gift,

A legacy, a wind-fall by a will,

A hundred thousand, or, as much as seems

Sufficient for the purposes of pride.

To make him parallel with magnitude ;

He soon grows giddy, and descends again

To base beneath him. See, another falls !

O not unpitied, but beloved by all ; —

In midst of honorable^ steady course.

Cut o£f by death, when parents, friends, and kin.

Were watching his ascent. Too anxious they.

Too ardent he, beyond the strength of youth.

The soldier spirit, genius of war.

With sword uplift, aspiring to the height

Of conquest and conceit ; in cannon's roar.

Conceives the victory gain'd. Alas I bow soon

His triumph passes ; though his Iiand be stain'd

With blood of enemies ; he falls to earth,

A victim to the chance, and ills of war.

Another sits, with jealously cast down.

Disturbed at other'* merit. Not one step

115

n firm parsuit of industry, he takes ;

tut low and snllen, broods upon his lot,

)i8satisfiedj disgusted, and deceiyed.

Ln author, lawyer, orator, or one

Vbo acts for praise, and cannot brook the Truth.

'ass on :-^Tbe liberdne, who cares for nought

tut selfish fitme, no matter how attained,

Vith no r^ard for rectitude, falls down

^ith books, peQS^ pencils, pallet, and bis works,

lis genius unable to proceed

teyond deception* Ladies too of fame,

?ine talents, promising, f^ccomplish'd, fiur,

Vspirant, seeking to oustep their Lords,

iy splendor dazzled, or the pride pf dress.

Poo confident in midst of their career,

?all victims to their vanity. — ^The tar

Licaps from the pier, but taking step top short,

F'aHs to the ocean ; Priest at mitre aims

Vnd finds himself mistaken* — Swindler too,

>f talents most uncommon ; had but truth

\nd strict integrity preserved his feet.

Instead of gibbet, might have found a height

Most honourable, creditable, just,

k rich reward of industry. Alas !

Whal numbers fall, when almost every eye

Is watching their success. — What numbers sit.

116

la contemplative eminence, content ;

As if the world were all to be desired.

Bnt truth, above them, fix'd upon the height.

Has no such votaries.— 60 higher thop.

Who fond of eminence in perfect Love,

Art ardent, indefatigable, firm,

Regarding truth more brilUant than the worid ;

More bright than Human Wisdom. Iliere Sir, pai

And breathe most freely, and behold the past.

The dangers, and the distance thou hast gone :

Thence looking out, the promised land of bliss.

May happily be seen : — ^Be thine with eyc^

Of Genius Triumphant, to behold thp Prise.

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THE RESCUE.

Tbb flame around a female spread^
€oii8omiDg like the bm-qing lead.
No hope appeared, all chance afar.
Bar imly prospect seem'd dei^pair.

A Tillai9 to the mandon came.
And lit the fire, and fannM the flame ;
Theo, Kke a fiend, beheld the pile,
Bchdd it bnming, with a snule.

fr. A noble youth who saw the fiur.
And erer for distress, would dare
Hie danger of a gallant deed.
Did brave the moment and succeed.

120

But how ? la midst of all alarms.
He took the maiden to his arms ;
He 8av*d her at the risk of life.
And made her his^ a happy wife !

The Rescue^ in a moral sense,
Was Virtue's richest reoompence.
Accept with pleasure then the Iine>
May such reward be ever thine.

121

THE SOLDIER'S LEAVE.

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lAd^k

Is there a bliss nrhen Lovers meet ?
Is there a word to Friendship siveet ?
Is there on earth a bitter knell ?
'Tis when the tongae must say farewell !
•

* Is there a sound can reach the heart ?
Is it a pang to meet and part ?
Is it delight, the truth to tell ?
TIs misery to say — farewell !

Is it a woe, and is it sorrow,
T0 come to-day, depart to-morrow ?
fifid in nature bound by spell,
yet to breathe the word farewell ?

the world, and look around,
this and that enchanting sound ;
wilt not find in tongue of bell,
sad a sound as that farewell !

122^

Farewell I ihe word is truly spoken^
Though the heart be almost broken ;
Time must now my tongue compel^
To speak ^e word j — &rewell ! fiarewdl !

So spake the Soldier to. the mfud^
Twas the last word he eyer sud ;
Except in battle^ as he fell,
'^ My dearest g^ f farewell t fiurewell I

»f

He took Ids leaye! perhaps. Sir, thou
Mayst one day such a feeling know ;
If so, thine heart Uke mine must swell.
To write or speak the word,— -FarewelL

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123^

THE TREE OF

Tis a fiction^ Sir, be snre^
Though some may deem it true ;

I do not wiflh^ Sir, to allure
Your senses from the view ;

If you believe the simple tale^

Pray let the mottQ then {nrerail. —

Tis said, the Tree of Java^ stands

A lonely loathsome tree>
In midst of dreary traekleinB sands,

nrom vegetation free ;
That not a bird, or beast, can bear,
for four miles round it, earth or w*.

The poison'd gum, with rapid knife.

Is cut fixMn off the tree.
By daves condemned, who lose their life.

Or gain their liberty.
The arrow with the poison round.
It fwt to give a mortal wound.

124

The tree of Pride withia our isle,

Grows just as deadly too ;
You do not think it by your smile.

Believe me, it is true !
We slaves of men, the poison take,
^Hs Love alone, the ill can slake.

I've seen the tree ! within its range

I wandered once myself.
And caught infection ; passing strange

The consequence of pelf ;
But have I *scap'd it ? — Time will prove.
The good eflfbcts of healing Liovc.

The Tree of Java, on the other side.
May fairly picture to you Human Pride.
I need but add, — Pray do not disapprove.
Of tree so fatal, being f^ll'd by Love.

-?-i^' 4U^*A y.^'-i/'

123

THE MINE.

Dbep in the cayerns of the hollow earthy

Are hid those riches which the worid calls wealth ;

The dark dull mine, to pageantry gives birth.
To Pride, to hate, to envy, and to stealth ;
To Love destructive, and the same to health ;

AfliBCtion, Lady, is the richest mine.

May some one take the greatest share iu Thine.

I do not flatter ; bat believe the truth,
A woman's love^ is better far than gold ;

I would not sell it in my day of youth.

No, not though millions were before me told ;
I would not sell it, were I growing old.

Bat some will smile, and utter this is fine 1

So let them smile, they know not what is mine.

120

Bot this is thine : Fair lady^ know ye this.
To loTe in truth the richest will incline ;

The poorest be|^^ may partake of bliss.
And find in Lotc, the treasure of a mine
So inexhausted, that the Poet's line

Might run for erer, and yet still run on

Relating truth, — ^till time itself were gone.

If such a mine Afiection can afford,
OLady! mays! thou find it In thy Lord t

WELLINGTON AND BONAPARTE.

Tb YaQlbs of Britain mark the contrast here,

two Heroesi — mark their strange career :
one exalted in his countrjr's eye.
The other hnmbled for his treachery.
Think ye no Pow.'r superior to all,
Conmianded this to rise, and that to fiodl ?
Think ye tlie Hero, who so highly stands.
Admired in this, and fear'd in other lands,
Conld etf&r to such pitch of honor rise.
Unless protected from his enemies ?
Who gave that eye, the rapid glance to see,
Where.best was shewn, the chance of victory ?
Who gau that firmness in the battle's hour P
Who made that Spirit mighty with his Power ?
Who rais'd thee up for purposes unknown.
And gav^ thee talents, which have now been shown ?

WelUngton I though mighty be thy fame,

1 know, thou know'st, a mightier Victor's name !
I do not flatter, 'tis enough for me.

To say 1 like thee for fidelity !

128

And ey'ry man (though war oppress my heart,)
Has my esteem, who acts a faithful part.
Bat who am I ! Proud boaster, of what clan ?
A hiimble Christian, and an Englishman ;
Nor would 1 ever for the widest range.
Condition upon earth with any change ;
Be sure of this, thou hast the honest truths
From hand and heart of independent youth.

Observe the contrast, youths of any clime^
See Bonaparte humbled in his prime ;
With talents keen, a hero in his day.
Without fidelity. Ah I who shall stay.
On lofty pinnacle of this world's fame.
Unless consistency support his name ?
Who, who shall dare, to think himself so grand
He's fit to conquer, and the world command ?
To mortal man, such strength was never given ;
'Us His alone, who governs Earth and Heaven.
AU, all who rule, must own His mighty sway.
And ruling best. His precepts will obey :
Napoleon fell ; his advocates will own.
His God was Pride, Ambition was his throne !
How both were humbled, St. Helena shows i
So fall the faithless, to the ffuthful foes !
Youths, ye have seen how Virtue can abide ;
Be sure of this, so falls the daemon Pride.

{

129

THE RACK.

ToKMBNT me not ! O pray relent !
. Cease, cease the pang^— I will confess ;-—
LxCease to iDflict, to rack^ torment^
TllBd I'll confess, O yes, O yes !

My heavy heart is torn within.
Distracted with my cruel sin ;
I own I loved, but not thyself,
I loved thine aflSucnce, thy pelf.
Bat ah not thee ; another had
My best affections. O I'm mad !

I Torm

Torment ine not !— Such pangs oppress,
Lffliey break my heart ; they cut my soul.
R %naent me not, and Til confess
li The perfect truth — the whole, the whole.

V .

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O pity, Lady, pity not,
The wretch in such a wretched lot ;
For fault, for crime, he suflfers now,
For making false a lover's vow ;
He said he lov'd in day of youth,
And knew he spake not love in truth.
Thou wretched man, on looking back.
Who findst thy life a living rack.

Such be the fate of every one,
Who loves for aught but love alone.
And finds it out in after life.
He loves a woman, not his wife.
The rack of conscience makes us all.
For Love and pity, Lady, call.

131

THE STORY.

List to Ibe talc. 'Twas ilbus, Sir, I
In early lifc^ tlic sehool aunoy'd,
When scarce a boy durst turu bis eye.
So horrified^ so ovcrjoy'd.
To bear the ghost or goblin trcad^
Olr see some phantom of the dead.

In after life, when manhood came,
BeUeve me, Sir, 'twas just the same ;-r-
And eyen now, <is ardent youtli ,
I'd tell a story with some truth,
Wonld make you shudder and conceal,
The deep emotion you would feel.
Out shall I venture on the song,
O no, I fear 'twould be too long ;
Besides, I cannot, Sir, compose
Sd well in numbers as iu prose. —

102

'Twns just thtt hour when owlets scream^
When faitliless husbands roam abroad ;
Wlien cats are mewing^, and the stream
Of fashionables tread the road,
To revel at the evening vq^t,
Or through the street to sculk about : —
Twas just the hour, but where the man.
To see such things, such scene to scan ;
No matter where, not far from hence,
I write, Sir, in that maa's defence.

A wandering stranger all alone.
Was walking by the light of moop ;
As down he sat upon the ground.
To contemplate the scene around.
He saw advancing by the light,
A figure drest in robe of white ; —
A female form. As nearer now,
She past beneath the hanging bough.
He saw her weep, and heard her sigh,
And wring her hands so mournfully.
Her spirit seem'd to die within her ;
And thus began the plantive sinner : —

had I led an upright life,

1 might have been a happy wife ;

<< For one who lov*d me, loves me still,
** Yet make me his, he never will.

133

^^ Nor can I hope it, Ab^ poor me !
^^ Mine is a life of misery ! ■*
No more, no more ; her scarf was flung
Across the bongh, and there she bung ;
The stranger, be it briefly known.
Sans ceremonie^ cut her down.
And soon convincM her. One above
Compassion had in purest Love.
A happy woman, if not wife,
jShe lives in hope of better life.
And now. Sir, whether whig or tory,
Here the Poet ends his story.*-*

135

NUCULA COBBOLDIiE.

Hail. Lady ! sacred to the Poet's eycj

This Nucula Cobboldise ; but why ?

Because it speaks what never spake another^

The prdse and honor of a tender Mottier !

Well has xsoAchologist in note below.

Recorded worth ! that worth Hwas thine to know,

Fdrgire the feeling, let a Poet's song,

fiXpresB his gratitude ? Ah, long ! long ! long !

Whilst son can feel, shall tenderness relate

A mother's worth ; that worth 'tis mine to state.

Lady, has nature ever charm to wake,

Tby soul from slumber, at the morning's break ?

Has sun a beam can le^litter in thine eye ?

Has diamond lustre ^ Didst thou ever spy

186

The secret glance from lover breaking forth ?
If so^ thoult estimate a parent's worth.
First sound of pleasure, in our infant day.
That being's name, who taught our lips to pray.
First sight of rapture, when the mother's head
Peeps in the cot, above the baby's bed !
Say, hast thou seen the pure extatic smile.
The start of Innocence ? can love beguile
At any moment, care, or toil, or woe ?
The infant's joyful leap, such pow'r must sliow.
When first essaying in the youthful throng,
A mother's smile has cheer'd our feeble song ;
When first our years advancing with our height.
Her eye beheld, the gratifying sight.
Say, Lady, canst thou e'er behold another
So truly fond and fitithful as thy mother ?
Think thou with him who dedicates this line,
In purest transport of respect ! of thine !
Was she a kind, affectionate, good friend ;
£ncouraged virtue ; taught thee to attend
To moral precepts, and religion's voice ?
To study nature ? to be firm in choice ?
To fear no mortal, but to love, obey ;
Thy betters envy not 3 nor turn away
When aught of good, or honorable deed,
Remun'd for duty, to enforce with speed ?

137

Say, has she prompted thee to seek and find.
In nature virtue, and in science mind ;
Applauded good, reproved, in wisdom sound.
That vice too apt to kindle, and ahound ?
O Lady, such a mother was to me.
The dearest Nucula Cobboldiae !

Hail thou this emblem of a Mother's Fame,
The richest Prize of merit ; — A Good Name. —

Note. '* Being desiroufi of commeinoratiiig Mrs. Cobbolp, whose
eopions coUection obtained with great industry, in company with several
of tbcjonior branches of her family^ whom she delighted to inspire with
m lore fbr the works of Nature, from the Crag-pits of her own estate,
a degree of taste and zeal seldom met with ; I have named this
i, and withal elegant sheU, after her/' Vide Sowerbp't Minerai Ctn^
chol^gy, VbI. 2. page 177, plate 180.

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189

THE SECRET.

Upon my irord the tale is true.

Bat mind you keep it irdl>
Or else, for erer in your vievf.

No secret I shall t^ll*.
She told me so ;- 'tis .foot Indeed,
And yerily^ His all agreed.

You do not say so ; hush, pray hush !

Perchance the walls may hear !
I'm all astonishment ; I blush.

If aay one be near !
Welly only think it ; what a sharoe !
What pass 'tis come to, who's to blame ?

Hnsb, hush ! I heard my servant say

She knew it long ago ;
She told me cautiously to day,

I soon should find it so ;
My Marg'ret told me, Marg'ret knew
The whole transaction 3 so 'tis true.

141

THE CUP.

Tw fitfhion b old England still.

Let no one e'er deter it,
A cnp, in token of good will,
^ To g^ye to Man of merit :
Tlu8 was presented. Sir, last year.
Now represented boldly here.

May he receive the cup of bliss.
Who lores and nerer &lter8,

A cop more beautiful than this.
Whose value never alters ;

One worth the price of richest gem.

More brilliant than a diadem.

142

The line is written^ mark it well ;

This Gup of merit shows^
The heart of yeomenry can tell

How pure attachment glows.
In thas^ presenting it to thee^
Accept the line of purity,

May Love be thine^ for ever, ever pure,
A cup of bliss, most likely to endure.

---™'''l""''"-'f"'"'" """wiiiiit— iiiiiiiiii'nin

143

DEAD GAME.

TiMB was, but ne'er will be again,
When I bare made ^' dead game ! "

A cruel shot ; Vre given pain.
Hast tbon. Sir, done the same ?

Time was, time is, and may be still,
F6r Sportsmen fiill of game,

Bat mark me, Sir, the present will
Increase the Poet's fame.

In lore, O never. Sir, make sport.
Let honor keep thy name ;

And never let the fair report,
Ihat thou hast made dead Game.

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THE FAIR FACE.

' Thoi7*lt own^ Sir, if ever thou chance to espy
In the face of affection, thy love ;

The spirit seems speaking in flash of that eye,
Wluch can only behold and approve.

Come then tell me in truth,
If you love in your youth, ~

And you do not dissemble to-day ;
Was there ever a sight
So replete with delight ?

Was there ever ! I pray you. Sir, say ?

In fkce of the fair one, the maiden so dear,

O tell me, if summer has sky
So fall of expression, so cloudless and clear

As the flash of that dear maiden's eye ?

146

Then behold tbi^t fair face^
Which has nature's rich grace.

And the charm which affection can give ;
Behold it with love ;
Be ye constant, and prove

You would keep it as long as you liye.

(

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THE TAX QATHERER.

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^ ilr mtK$i upon Love^ would increase the demand.
Do yon think that the country would suffer ?
Bdkre me. Old England, my dear native Land,
(Though Bhe wants not my spirit to puff her,)
. Would £Edl to the level of nations not free,
Deprcss'd in her Love : But may sueh never be !

IVno Love I is the spirit of Honor, not Pride ;

Tis the freedom of Virtue, not art ;
^Tb tiie soul of the bravest ; 'tis nature's pure gmde ;

lit the proof of an excellent heart.
.Vbt Lotc would I suffer, but none should controul ;
[yio pride, power, wealth, should enchain my free soul !

148

To my Country her dues ; to my King due esteem ;

To the peers^ commons, people, regard ;
To the girl of my heart like a King I would seem,

Like a king her true love would reward ;
'Tls the province of man, who has Nature's pure sway,
To protect, love, and cherish,— ^but not to obey.

Foi^ve me,7e maidens, I mean none offence.

For no tax would I place upon Love,
Unless to read this, if ye think it good sense.

The few lines which are written above.
Such a Gath'rer of Taxes, indeed might complain ;
He might rap at my door ! I should say, rap again !

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150

But methinks I espy now a creature of grace.
With a word on her lips, and a smile on her foce :—
'^ Come, Sir, come you're severity's self my dear Crit !
You must own there's some point, if you call it not

wit ;
The designs you remember, pray don't be demure.
Are not done by an Artist, a mere Amatner ;
Now I'm positive too, if in love you should be.
With yourself or another, perhaps with poor me.
You will find in the moral a lesson worth keeping ;
I see now a glance from your features are peeping.
Which declares I speak truth ! Now your smile is

enough,
And you will not, you cannot, pronounce it such

stuff."

The Critic smiles when Woman pleads a cause.
Drops his harsh pen, and joins tl^e just applause :
When Ladies smile on Virtue, Love, and Truth,
They have the Poet's thanks !— The zest of Youth.

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151

THE KNIGHT-ERRANT.

YoiniG Sir Ardent return 'd from the horrors of war.
Is arrived at bis castle. He joumey'd from far ; —
Both by night and by day, in the midst of attack
He was never unguarded^ and ne'er tum'd his back.
To the maiden he lov'd, he had vow'd to subdue
All the monsters he met with, and these were not few.
<< Fair creature, '* be said, '^ If I prosper, 'tis thou
'* Both my heart, and my hand, and my home, that

shalt know ;
^< Tig for thee that I hasten to conquer, not fly,
*' *Ti8 for thee I seek competence, prosper, or die.
^' To the summit of Industry's hill I must go,
^^ And combat the sluggard who revels below ;
'* In the midst of attack, O believe me, dear girl,
^* Whilst the spear I shall rest, or the javelin hurl,
** Tis the Spirit of Love that shall prompt the brave

deed,
^' O believe me, such Spirit will make me succeed !"

]52

(Ic departed, and prospered, and fought against

Pride,
And returns with success, to receive a rich bride.
But he gain'd not the prize without valor and worth,
He was noble, tho' humble, was brave from his birth;
He contended with foes, such as none could subdue,
But the honest in heart, and in love too, the true ;
But he prospered! — Sir Ardent, the brave and the

young.
Is returned to his castle, the fort is made strong.
Let the man who likes wisdom accept this last

rhyme —
God will speed the true Lover, at every time !

153

THE ENNUYEE.

^is all in yain t books, scenes, pens, pencils foil ;
^Tis all in viun t my work, my sight, my mind ;

Tis all in vain ! my senses will preyail }
B'en words, are nothing. In the day I find.
Ten thousand thoughts incessantly inclin'd

To call me back, to pleasures past and gone ; —

To T0w*8 no longer mine ! — I've none, I've none.

O what are men ? One man, whom nature graced.
And Virtue seem'd to nestle in his heart ;

One man, from memory O ne'er defaced.
Who acted strangely, a deceiver's part. —
This Bne, if conscience makes the guilty start,

Bfay chance to strike him ; He was aU to me,

AmA now, though all, as nothing he must be.
z

154

Hour long I suffer, or am doom'd to lire f
Hour long I sorrow, 'till io earth I lie !

How long I wearily must weep ! I'd gi?e
The world to tell the moment I must die.
To-day with pleasure could I wish to fly

From earth to Heaven ; but it must not be,

I am not fit^ — a wretched Ennuvee.

And is it so I Young Womauj take advice.
Rouse thee this instant from^ a scene of woe }

Wail not, but come, I'll tell thee in a trice
How to cure sorrow ! for I truly know :
'Tis viEun, such languid lifelessness to show,-—'

I feel not harshly ; write a line to me,

I have receipt to cure the Ennuyee*

15S

A HAWK IN THE AIR.

Bow justly the treacherous man might compare

Witt the subject before us ; a Hawk in the air.

fflMtthou Feen one ? O often in youth's artless day^
irt I noted his progress ; bast thou. Sir, pray say ?

JUoft on his pinions he whirls his dread flight.

With an eye erer watchful, rapacious of sight ;
r Wldbl his talons are ready to pounce on his prey

And his wings are extended to bear her away.
\' O ne^ how he hovers, and sweeps o'er yon plain^

With liis victim in view ? Ah, my heart has felt pain !
^Vo Ihe dark dismal forest, he bears his poor bird,

die note of complaint, like her song, is unheard.

Wlio resembles the Hawk ? not the tipstaff, O no !
the far fam'd John Doe, with his friend Richard
Boe;

ire enemies often to Hawks of the day,
liOTer around for their innocent prey : —
die man without feeling, I justly compare
die picture before us — ^A Hawk in the air.

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157

THE CIRCUS.

Stirs there not spirit in the breast of man.

To rouse him into action to excel ?
The ancient Cireus, such a notion can

At once, undoubtedly its virtue tell ;
We need not retrograde to Grecian plan.

The modem Britons have the charm as well !
O let but Virtue be the true and noble aim.
Our native land is Circus, suited for the game !

Spectators plenty round our Country bide.

All eyes on England bend the glance of thought ;

Contending parties here and there divide.
And come in contact when together brought.

Stand firm, ye brave ! for Wisdom will decide.
How oft experience is dearly bought ;

Stand firmly now ! Let honor, love, and credit stand.

VemrnQt, yc foremost, fear not ! Love your native land.

L58

The Colisemn moidders into dust,
A stately fabric, raised by human skill.

And so will England^ when a want of trust,
A want of confidence betrays ill will ;

Be wise, ye senators, be wise and just.

Good government, the structure strengthens stiD.

The Circus, God prcserre it, 'neath our Royal Guelpb,

Has faithful combatants,— those who can conquer self*

IS9

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JT THE CROWN,

SUPPORTED BY THE HANDS OF VIRTUE,
LOVE, AND TRUTH.

of Glory ! Honor's brightest gem !
Nation's pleasure, England's diadem I
Crown supported by the hands of youth,
in the cause of virtue, lore, and truth.
are but men, though first of men on earth,
.^Thdr Crowns, but ornaments denoting worth 3
^ ^^Aiit thus supported, worthy they must be
-^j^salion's love, a naticm's loyalty.

^' '■: \irtae is valor, intrepidity in peace;
' ^ », is attachment which will never cease.

V; hi time of peace, let Virtue bravely prove
^^Tbine heart's attachment is not selfish love.

WoaMst thou be wise, and have thy children clad
. I9 eoat of warmth, in fervor's warmest plaid,

Amn golden fleece of never-fading Truth
% Tby doihing make, and wear it in thy youth.
^ .Ihe Crown, by Wisdom so supported, must
^■onor a King, and prove his people just*

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162

'< Come, come, my friend, we lose oar time,

<^ Come, let*8 be off I pray. —
" Now Poetry a perfect rhyme,

" Old Ponto hie away ! "—

Now see them off, — ^the stile is past.

The field is entered now ;
The keeper with the dog in haste 3

Boy, by the hedge's row.

Ye sportsmen, tell me, have ye known^

Perhaps ye may remember.
That some suck feelings were your own,

On merry Krst September,

suck were mine ! but ne'er will be
Again the sportsman's lot ;

1 do not quarrel with tke glee.
Believe me, I do not.

But otker tkings are now my sport.

And otker views my game ;
Altkougk a skot, 'twas not my forte,—-

My pleasure I could name.

163

But still I see with cbeerfiil ffice.

The sportsmen in the fields
And memory can strictly trape^

To none in love I yield.

Judge by the line hoivr much 'twas so.

Ye sportsmen, hark ! I hear
The word of joy, '^ toho ! toho !

" The covey's somewhere here !

^^ Toho old dog ! toho ! toho !

'^ Now steady, steady Don,
^' A pretty point ! aye truly so

''The game's but little on.

'' Now, Sir, walk up." Tliey walk in haste.

How anxiously they tread I
Pray Sir, for sporting have you taste ?

Do think the poet sped !

The covey springs, pop bang ! pop bang !

''That bird is mine and this !—
'^ How prettily the covey sprang !

" Ah ! pray Sir, did you mibs ? "

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How oft IVe seen the ftrst that ta*eii|

How oft have seen the joy !
And often of the first bird yain^

Have thrown it to the boy f

How often too^ when others hit

And I have miss'd my aim^
My nether lip in sorrow bit^

And eyed the flying game 1

They load again ; no wliip, no flog !

'^ Come Reuben^ kill'd my first !
<' Well found, well stood, my dear old dog,

'' This satiates my thirst."—

Agun away, away they rang^.
The well-train'd pointers speed ;

^Tis fact, however mneh 'tis strange.
There's something. Sir, in breed.

'Us true a shot will make a dog.
Perhaps may make him stand ;

1 hate to scold, to kick, and flog.
To get him in command.

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165

A noUe breed of any kind.

Well nuitor'd and well trained,

AMoredly you'll oyer find
Tht best to be retained.

Their heads are higb^ their hearts if good

1^1 nerer know delay^
But prompt to speed as good ones shou'd,

Tliey oyer hie aiitray.

I loTO to see a pointer stand,

A senator as firm,
Welkbadied upon their master's land^ —

How Uke you. Sir, the term ?

^ Ah ha! look there, his nose is low,

<< BSs body twisted round.
^ A hare, a guinea Sir, His so,

'< I know it by the ground/'

Away die bounds, ^' Ah ha ! well done !

^ You shot her. Sir, in style,
^Methought, however, she was gone,

^* You let her get a mile*—

1C6

^ Go pick her up, boy, take the hare.

<< Look yonder, mark I mark ! mark !
'^ Two coveys ; boy, bring up the mare ;

<^ I heard a gun ; Hark ! hark I«->

'^ Reuben, who's that P just go and see,

*' A trespasser I fear, —
'< Confound him, whosoe'er he be,

'^ What does he poaching here ! ''

^ TRs Mr. Cobbold, Sir." « Indeed,

<^ Pray ask him in to mine i
^^ Good morning. Sir ! What sport ? what ^ed ?

*' I hope you'll come and dine."

<^ I thank you kindly, I must bend

" My steps to B.'s to-day ;
*' Tis Mr. C. my sporting friend —

" Good morning : " — " Hie away."-:-

Away again, again they find.

Again they bag their game ;
The young ones sometimes lurk behind.

And old ones do the same.

167

The day grows hot— the p<dnter8 flag^-^
The sportsmen take their lunch ; —

The boy brings home the well-fiU'd bag,— •
The dogs the biscuits crunch,

A little brandy, wine, or beer,

A piece of bread and cheese.
At such time are the best of cheer.

And always sure to please.

Refreshed, they walk.— Some better shoot.

Some cannot kill so well ;—
Some have a thorn within their foot,

A spnun or strain to tell. —

How often have I walk'd along
Through heat, and drought, and sun,

Unwilling, as I am this song, '
To leave it when beg^n.

How often wish'd at close of day

To lengthen out the space.
To have it in my power to say,

" I've shot. Sir, my ten brace."

168

But full as oft been forc'd to yield.

At evening sun's decline,
The pleasure of the sportsman's field,

For that of home and wine.

Hoir often there in pleasant talk.
Recounted shot and miss.; —

Proposed a day ; — another walk —
Another such as this. —

Ye sportsmen all, the cheerful song
Of love and peace remember ;

Be just and good^ — ^And may ye long
Enjoy your First September. .

169

THE INFANTS KISS.

Iff Nature show me sweeter bliss.
Or purer innocence than this.
The rapture of an Infant's Kiss ?

There's none I yov.

In Nature can the world afford,

Td those who lore, and feel restored,

A sound more dear than prattl'ing word

Of Infant? No.

bfant's Kiss, 'tis innocence,
nature's purest recompence,
■thLo/ft^B darling pleasure and defence ;

Indeed 'tis so.

YmiH find it such, perhaps, one day,-

truly. Sir, I wish you may
iU happily with infant play.

As I do now.

171

THE

SCUFFLE FOR THE STANDARD.

Tb nge Connoisseurs, I may chance to convince ye,

lUi pictare by famed Leonardo de Vince,

Lmg lost and forgotten, is now to be seen

At tin honae of the Poet, St. Margaret's Green ;

Tbfm with Edelink's print, it wiU hang in my view,

jiafbr yean it has hnng« On my word it is true.

Bat tiie subject, 'tis horrible ! horses and men,
the spirit of phrensy overtaken, I lien ;
tte sake of a standard, a flag on a stafi^,
it not for the horror perchance I might laugh,
the grin of destruction and gasp of quicli breath,
determined to welcome a violent death :
lis to me a sad sight, for I never c;ould liill,
Yel believe me, a martyr to truth, ever will

172

With a steady firm foot, and a single dear eye.
Keep a qoiet straight course never fearing to die.
In the scuflSe, I know it, through life we must fight,
With ourselves, with our passions, with spirit ofmighti
For the mighty must stru^le for standard of truth,
Tia the humble will conquer, if zealous in youth.
Go then ! fight for thyself, and victorious prove.
Conquer evil with good — ^be triumphant in Love.

Note. This picture is now nppoted to be only known by the print
of FilBlink. The iketch, as any gentleman may perceive who p o ti t c i
the print, is not taken from that, bat firom a painting which has been m
the Author's fiunily for some years, and which was obtained nnder curi-
ons circamstances. From internal evidence, there is strong reason to sop-
pose that Edelink's print is not executed from the original picture, b«t
from an inferior copy. There axe lome strange inconsistencies in his print,
not to be found in the painting now in the Author's poesesnon, and cer-
tainly not in the original picture wherever it may be, supposing this b not
it. The Author would be most highly gratified by a communication wiA
any gendeman upon tlte subject. At all events, a sight of one tuperiofly
executed, would be sufficient to console him under the ideaof hisnoCbciif
the original.

173

THE BRAVE ACTION.

Young Acton passing o*er the Gipping's ware
In peril's hour, was just in time to save ;
He heard the cry, and rushing at the shock,
Beheld the suff'rer drowning by the lock :
One instant more, the wretched youth had sank.
And left the surface, as 'tis mostly, blank.
Nature was prompt, the spirit stirr'd within.
This brave young, man undauntedly sprang in ;
At risk of life he riez'd the Soldier's hand.
And bore him safely to the wish'd-for land.
The deed is past, but honor shall remain.
And Tirtue teach the Poet to explain.
How justly they who imitate the same,
Desenre the laurel at the hand of Fame.

174

Tls well, 'tis well I whenerer sons of men,
Are prompt to rescue, and protect ; the pen
Of ardent Poet, shall not foil to raise.
The just reward in line of love and praise.
For what on earth would Christian wish to hare,
Alore pure than this ? — In peril, power to save.

Note. A handaonie silver medal was presented to this young msn bj
the Ipswich Humane Society, in token of admiratioo of his condoct Whst
is very singalar, the indiridoal whose life was sared, had )>een a respectable
clerk in an attorney's office : In a fit of desperation, on account of his

* * *

friends havingobjected to his marrying an amiable yoong WDman, he enlisied
as a prirate in the 82nd Regiment. These cirenmstancea came to the
knowledge of the Humane Society, who to their credit be it recor^ey), were
instrumental in obtaining the discharge of the soldier, and of jtgtomg
him to his family, and to that which appeared dearer to him than everj
thing else, the woman he loved.

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176

Are monuments feebly denoting the dead
Respected as sacred, as tokens of lore ?

This line of the living respectfully read.
The feeling of transport may faithfully proye.
The building is sacred to Spirit abore :

May the children who enter united remain.

And join with the soul in devotional strain.

My Church is my glory : — ^not this built by hands.
Though respected and hallowed by thoughts of the
good.
But the Church, all good Christians, myspirit's com-
mands
Are to love and esteem, as I faithfully shou'd :
In this, my dear fiiends, be the line understood*
All who love are included, not me, a strange youth,
But who love the pure precept, the structure of Truth.

177

MAN.

Woman, behold ! how ^eat, how grand, how good^

Man when created midst the creatures stood.

To bim in earth all living beings bow'd,

Their names distinctions to his wisdom ow*d ;

Created lovely, godlike, pure in mind.

To nature, virtue, love, and truth inclined,

His was a paradise of health and soul,

A conscience free from burthen of controul : —

As o'er the vast-created far-devoted throng

Of humble quadrupeds, he cost along

The glance of thought, his spirit sought to find

Some sweet companion suited to his mind : —

For him the creatures of the earth might move,

Pftss, come, and go, they could not talk of love ;

They could not dwell on elevated thought,

By right of wonder, sight of nature taught,

Instinct was all, and instinct bade them pay

Devoted homage to the man of sway : —

^was thee he sought, — ^he sought thee not in vain,

God gave him thee, — ^thou wast his joy his bane.

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17*

Womao for ibee^ O lovely^ lovely maid f
Mau'B spirit writes not vaiuly to upbraid.
For thee be suffered in degraded spbere.
The loss of bliss,— for thee he first felt fear.
Weep thou, O no ! Be glad, be good, be pure,.
Man will continue all things to endure.
Still cherish thee } he knows that perfect bliss-
On earth, can never certainly be his ;
Still in thy love whilst life is sweetly given.
He will abide, and move with thee to heaven,.
As sin of thee first found its way to man,
So love of thee has made affection plain.
O woman, kindred spirit ! mayst thou be
Beloved of man, of man who would be free.
May he respect, be ardent, be sincere.
And thou, companion of his heart, be dear.
As much he lov'd thee ere the morn he fell.
The eve's Atonement bids him wish thee well.
The day will come, when love exalted shines.
When spirit with the body so combines
The life with liberty, that thou and he.
In love united, shall be ever free.
At present WMt thou ; man with thee will wait^
Patient in honor, patient in bis state ;
Aa God to him is merciful in love.
So he to thee, as merciful will prove.

17»

PLAIN REASONS FOR PLEASURE.

Thb Tiber, the Tigris, Euphrates, and Nile,
Those rirers of classical glory may smile ;
The Thames or the Medway may sparkle with glee»
Bat the Orwell is loveliest river f(H* me^

The Xanthus, or otherwise noted Scamander,
Throngfh valleys of Troas may placidly wander ;
The Humber, the Clyde, or the Avon delight.
But the Orwell for me has the loveliest sight.

The Niger, the Rubicon, €ios may flow.
The Garatas glittef, the Ladon move slow ;
The Danube, the Ister, the Elbe, and the Rhine,
Tbey may all have delights ; but the Orwell is mine.

The Inacits, Imbrasus, Palus Linterna,
The Arcadian Styx, caird the Palus Infcrna ;
The gentle Limaea and Lisson may be.
To tbdr poeti delightful : The Orwell for mc.

181

FATAL JEALOUSY.

Tbo* Ofid wrote in rich harmonious citrain^
Hereto with passion, full of joy and pain,
And made of men, his deities like man,
I shall not follow his deceptive plan,
Bat give to mortals what is mortal's due.
The praise of yirtue, when their love is true.
TVudi Was howe'er obscured by idols yun.
Foil often ground- work of the Poet's pen.

TUs nugfat be &ct, for jealousy in life.
The youth may feel, the maiden, or the wife ;
And lynx-eyed fear may prompt suspicion on.
To deed of folly, as by Procris done ;
Still love, the harbinger of heart and soul.
Should keep us all in honor and controul.

1S2

That man, who cruelly proyokes the spleen
Of woman's nature, he deserves no screen
To hide his treachery. May poignant dart.
Strike deep conviction to the faithless Iieart !
What can he hope, whose savage eye can see,
A lovely woman, stung by jealousy ;
Provoked, with cause, to call her Lord unjust.
His plighted vows, his honor to mistrust ?
Does eagle tear from bleeding lamb the heart ?
Does life-blood from the wounded bird depart ?
Does shark rapacious seize the swimming prey ?
More cruel man, who trifles in this way.

Beware of jealousy, ye gentle fair.
Of Procris' fate, young maidens, O beware !
She thought her Lord indulged in secret shade.
The interchange of love with favor'd maid*
A giddy swain, who heard him call on air
To soothe fatigue, convey*d it to the fair.
With certain declaration, that he heard
The gentle accents of the lover's word.
Prompted by fear, by doubt, by love, by life.
The young, the doating, yet suspicious wife^
Hasten'd away, and hid herself, to see
The pictured ol)j6ct of her jealousy.

183

Alonej young Cepbalis was passing by.
And heard the rustling of the branches nigh,
Quick flew the dart ! which never miss'd its aim ;
Alas, the dearest of the dear, his game.
The feeble cry of Procris told the truth.
And left distraction to dismay the youth.

Beware, ye maidens ! if the soul of man.
Be not of honor, woman, never can
By means of jealousy, prevent his will ;
Suspicion only must increase the ill,—*
But trust in truth. May man of honor 'bide
In Woman's love, and virtue be his bride.

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185

THE BEAR ATTAOKED.

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CouM huDt irith me the nide rough bear,
V Be bold^ be yaliant, if yoa dare;
And hasten to the mountain's brow.
And lay the greedy monster low.
I': Te youths of spirit, to the chase
r I Ud you weloome I not the base.
•He li^es a terror to the deer,
And keeps the neighbourhood in fear ;

growls at those he cannot hni,
I'.IMlghts to subject at his will ;
Grows fitt, and haughty, big with pride,
"Bm insolently love defied ;

BoUe creatures turns his nose,
deems the poorer ones his foes : —
grin is grisly; yoice is gruff;
gr^Bi eoat is riiaggy ; skin is tough ;
"Sis paws on places, such as shou'd
:#iifport alone the braye and good,
lye torn asunder tender ties,
lill'd the country full of spies.

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180

But why has thU river such charms for mine eye.
The world cannot give such another^ ah ! why ?
For reasons as plain as a precept of truth,
I have liv'd and have lov'4 ^^ ^^ ^P^^ of my youth.

The banks where my footsteps in infancy's day,
Had delight to be roaming in innocent play ;
The kiss of affection was given and ta'en.
On the banks of the OrweU. — ^Ah pleasure has pain !

As over the waters, or banks, I still roam,

As yet they are lovely, as yet are my home ;

The Reason for Pleasure assuriedly is.

That I ride, sail, or walk, and the Orwell has bliss.

A Reason for Pleasure no nature can give.
Till man learns to profit, to love, and to live.
To act a good part, to be firm, faithful, kind.
And to cultivate friendship, religion, and mind.

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THE DREAM OF BLISS.

1 wandered with Ibe maiden of my mind,

Cte wi^g of Wfinif o'er the glaMy lake :

UTe ffvreetly flew like swallow in the air

lo raaiiy morning; one while^ ekimming near

Ttfi amooik and pladd Barfiewe, then again

At other^ ridng to the pare blae sky.

Wo bent onr way insfinctirely along.

Not knowing whither; orer hills and meads.

O'er rooks and groves, and rivers ; light and shade

So gently blended, that one i^oiious gleam

Of splendor, fall of beauty, seem'd to play

In lucid loveliness. And yet we flew.

Onward proceeding, with unconscious wing.

Attracted forcibly we knew not how.

Nor felt unmUing. Dangers there were none,-—

Nor interruptions, sorrows, or sad words.

Looks full of p^ace, contentment, and delight.

1:90

Dfrelt in our smiles, as /cjliariDg each in turn

The other playfidly pursued. We past a ranfe

Of lofty wooded moontains, and at ooee

Descended on a lake so clear and bright.

That eyery fish of gold and silver hue,

Bespang'd the spaifcling deep. — Ourselves were seen.

The very maiden match'd with Spirit's form.

So like mine own, it seenr'd to be the same ;

And nought but passage of the finny race.

Could so disturb the likeness, we could tell

Those forms were shadows. Now we seepn'd tp pause,

And hunger came upon us, mix'd with thirst ;

We spake our wants, but resting not our wings.

They bore us straightway to a standing tree

tVith fridt o'erloaded, but methought not fair.

Not speck*d, but whole. We look'd around again,

To see if other more of comely kind

Were nigh at hand ; but disinclined to fly,

I took and ate ', and oh, I cannot tell

How sweet the food ! Extatic was the dart

I gave that instant, to the kindred soul

Which hover'd near me ; — bade her take and eat ;

^was sweet beyond the compass of delight.

And when she ate, O never could the sun

More lovely seem ! We look'd upon the tree : —

Twelve branches rose aspiring from one stem.

»! »)"!

a-l

II «

194

Heart-broken loyers^ lift your heads agaiir.
And look ye for the spirit not in vain.
Aye look^ and lore, your constancy shall know
The sweetest recompence for mortal woe.
'Us but on earth we find in loyer'^s kiss.
The taste of happiness. — Celestial bliss^
From font of knowledge^ wisdom's purest source.
Flows undisturbed a current of such force.
That nature owns, when human passions end.
That cherish'd foimtaln, was our nature's ftieiid*

Oh I I have seen in life, believe me, seen
The unexpected sorrow intervene
In midst of pleasure, when the heart was high,.
The youthful soldier summon^ but to die $
Yet not in battle : — trumpet gave no call ;
Nor flew in strife the hostile musket ball ; —
By hand of friend tlie blow untimely given.
Which sent from earthy the spirit up to faeavem

Oh ! I have seen the tender parents woe.
The brother's grief, the sister's sorrow flow ;
Tears of such love, the very soul would melt,^
And weep for bitterness ! — Fve seen and felt :^
But never, never can I wish to see.
Again sufih pangs, again such agony.

195

But O methinks^ if sister's soul could show
Such depth of suffering! ah ! what the woe.
When one deprived of kindred spirit's tie,
Sees the fond lover stricken near her lie ?
Enough ! — I dare not, lest my heart should break,
Of such a sorrow, such a horror speak.-—
The line was written not to urge again
The thought of past, though not forgotten pain ;
'Twas written thus to soothe, and plainly tell
How much the Poet wishes lovers well ; —
How much he feels for nature ; how much more
For spirit's triumph when their grief is o'er.

1 .

107

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOR

How many pledges in a day,

Are ta'en and given here ?
Am many^ we may trtdy say.

At loren insincere
To maidens make, to give and break,
And keep or not for pleasure's sake.

My Lady B. has lost a ring,
O would it might be found !

She has not pawn'd it I no such tliiog/
She hates the very sound.

A Pawnbroker I O shameful tale.

You might as well propose a gaol.

My Lady C. has lost a peari,

Unludty, hiqpless lot !
Twas such a gift, from such an earl,

ffis name I have forgot ;
If any one on Christie calls,
He'U see it at the Golden Balls.

198

Lord X. has lost a rich estate.

But money must be had ;
He pawns bis studd, himself or plate.

And probably goes mad*
He throws the die ! unlucky cast,
Veloceped, has come in last.

A lovely girl ! 'tis really true,

A tear was in her eye,
Look'd more than once, afi forth she drew

A locket with a sigh :
'^ He gave it me ! " she faintly said,
^* I pawn it for the sake of bread :-^

€t

And yet if money can be found,
<< I'll work both day and night,
^ Thou dearest pledge, 'tis deepest wiHiBd

^^ To tear thee from my sight ;
'^ Yet go^ necessities compdl,
^ I will redeem thee ! &re thee well/'

Ah me ! 'tis money makes ufi all.

For want of wisdom want ;
A little prudence, who would fall.

Or pawn, or fawn^ or cant ?
May all from usury be free.
And live and love in liberty.

199

THE COTTAGE BOY,

Yb statesmen, senators, ye men of birth.
Look ye on this, a picture of some worth ;
Ye great and learned, rich, behold in joy
This humble-minded, happy, Cottage Boy.

Poor Ben, bow oft in independent day.
When free as biUow, I could bound away.
And haste to call thee from thy humble home.
To take thy stick and hat and quickly come.
And rouse the rabbits from the hedge or fern.
Or carry this and that, my game in turn ;
How oft I've seen^hee at thy frugal meal.
Contented sit, and murmer not at weal
Of others, fed with richer, finer fare.
Not better off, nor freer from lifers care.
Thy cat thy cosset, aye, as dear to thee.
As horse or hound could erer be to me.

209

I saw tbcc die : — Six months a liDg^riDg foe
Around thee hovered^ 'twas consumption slow.
But mark, ye mighty ! not a word of wail.
No sign of discontent could once prevul —
No word of doubt ; a meek and quiet mind
In hour of suffering to love inclin'd.
How oft as kneeling on the clean briok floor^
Beside the window or the cottage door^
In Spirit's prayer commended to the Lord,
Thy humble soul, through merit of his Word.

How oft the sun descending brightly down^
On me and thee his red rays sweetly shone :
That sun sets still upon the western hill,
Shines on thy cottage window, shines there still.
Thy sister, brother, mother, father see
The same sun sinking, and forget not thee ;
Nor shall I either, till no longer mine.
On me departing he shall cease to shine.
Who loves the hall, who loves the cottage door,
Is kind at home, and gentle to the poor.
That man shall live in midst of life's alloy.
And die as happy as this Cottage Boy.

201

THE NARROW ESCAPE.

Young B. sat musing by bis College fire^

When Horace called to welcome bim from Town ;

The n^ of visitor was made in vain.

For no one answered bim, '^ come in I come in I '^

Again the rap> — bat silence left the mind

To doobt of welcome. Never yet denied,

Toong Horace entered ; — ^His surprise increas*d.

When lo ! before the fiercdy burning fire.

His firiend in attitude of thought profound,

Sftt deeply meditating. So intent,

Hb senses rivetted on inward care.

No oatward object ocenpied the eye ;

An was within like being when entranc'd ; —

He saw aot, heard not, yet his eyes and ears

Retained liidr fsculties to see and hear ;

He sat him down to contemplate his friend ;

He looked for motion, but the fiercest flame

Glared oa the eye-ball, and appeared to play

With no more twinkle than reflection gave.

202

How long the reverie had lasted thus
Had no one interposed, 'twere bard to tell ;
But Horace, thinking that bis brain would crack
Or vision groiv imperfect, spake aloud.
But spake hi vain. The waggons in the street
Along Cheapside, or passing down Pall Mall,
Make just as much impression on the mind
or those inhabitants who live thereby.
As Horace did when calling 0!i his friend.
His voice was vain, then startiirg from his seat
With sudden blow of welcome on his back.
His hand fell smartly. But the instant starts
The horrid gaze of half-distracted fece.
As full of dismal and terrific dread
As if a monster had with grasp of death
Cut ev'ry nerve of life, made Horace feel
The rashness of his step. Alas ! his friend
Fell prostrate, groaning, on his college-floon
The agony can better be received
By thought, than narrative. SuflSce to say.
That slow returning life revived his form
And sense again, midst tears and signs of fear.
And yet midst thankfulness for dangers past ; —
Those dangers shall be told, and he who fell
Shall be narrator r —

<' Horace thou art kind^

203

But hear my story :— -'twas my lot thou know-^st

To be in London on the evening past ;

A single man of solitary turn,

Uaused to bear the bustle of an inn.

For pastime's sake, I irandcred to the play—

To Drury-Lane. There, ent'ting the sidbon*

Midst fashions vot'ries, -fickle, frail, and fair.

Midst sons and daughters of the thoughtless world,

I sat me down observant.— rSoihe were gay,

Some giddy, proud, and flaunting ; but akme,

Retir'd from flirting, sat a seeming mild.

Pensive, and thoughtful creature, with a face

As white as marble ; and her dark black locks

In graceful curls of negligence disposed.

She saw my character, and glanced across

A look of interest. I know not how,

But o'er me, passion had maintained her sway.

And proved my blindness ; thitherward inclin'd,

I talk'd and talk'd, till heedlessly o'erta'en.

In folly's hour, persuaded by the fair,

(Ah ! fair in form, but sadly stain'd with guiUf

The most inhuman which could stamp disgrace

On sex of Eve) I wander'd with her home.

Onward advancing she pretended truth.

And told me, secresy must cause my step

To passby ladder into room above,

f04

Whilsl she oircttitoudy tradsg roond

Would soon be idth me. After weary walk,

Whither proceeding ignorant and blind^

We found the street. I found the ladder plaeed.

And unsos^eioufliy i sallied up.

And entered darkness. Groping now about.

Expecting lights I found at last a couch.

On which I sat ; but feeling further on.

Most horrid fact, my fingers touch'd a face

As cold as death. The phrensy of my mind>

It made me seize it ; and from ear to ear

The throat was severed, and my maddened shake

Of sudden fury, serr'd alone to tell

I could not be deceived. The ladder too

That instant from the window mov'd away,

I rushed, 'twas gone ; and light and angry voice.

Approaching to the passage of the door.

Gave me one instant to expect my £ate—

That instant seal'd it : with elastic spring.

At casement of the window I essayed.

And calling murder, tumbled to the ground.

I felt my feet ; and running as for life

From street to street, I knew not where I went.

But onward kept, rejoiced to call a coach.

Such night of horror, shame, and dread, and prayer^

Such night of misery, of thought of past.

205

Of future resolution — ^kept aloof
Refreshing sleep. One deep letbar^c dream
Of drowsy darkness^ wherein shapeless things
Of forms most frightful, yet with woman's face^
Kept flitting round me ; and my hands with blood,
(As stain'd they were) seem'd lifted to my view.
But here I am, escaped ! O Horace ! say.
Have I not deep occasion for the mood
In which thou saw'st me.— 'lis enough, His o'er.
My friend reveal it, when thy friend's no more.'

Accept the tale, thou hast it as *twas told.
Recorded faithfully. Forgive my hand.
If now in love I offer to thy heart
The language of my soul. Beware, beware.
Of headstrong foolishness ! Let virtuous life.
By thee esteemed, be recognized as such ;
So call forth energy of mind and soul.
To keep thy senses in their just controul ;
Ah ! so shall Wisdom, sweetly freed from guile.
Protect the lovely, and on virtue smile.

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207

THE ROYAL RIDDLE.

MsN give a problem, to the wise of youth ;
I give a drawing ; tbouj explain the truth.

Solve the Riddle if ye can.
In wisdom's way, pursue the plan ;
I'll call ye somewhat wiser thanT
The Author, a composing man.

Look it o'er, and rap your pate,
^Search your visions, morn and late ;
You cannot guess the Riddle's fate.
Pray ask the Minister of State.'

Methinks the Senator is scanning.
One while thinking, pausing, planning }
My Lady too, her features fanning,
Proposes it to Mr. Canning.

Ferhi^ he*U solve it in his mighty pleasure^
If not) I oan^ Sir, at my quiet leisure.

II T-ii-

•« 1 ' ■'

rIS

• 209

THE WORTHLESS DOG.

A shepherd's do^, !iiB really fact^
His master skw him ia the act^
By night would kill the very sheep.
Appointed him to watch aild keep :—
By day he meekly eyed the foldf .
And bark'd whenever he was told ;
Woidd walk behind the shepherd's heels^
And fawn upon him at his meals ;
Yet strange to say, his master found
The dog grew daily larger round.
Looked fat and sleek, would hardly share
His former homely frugal fare,
^^Bnt dwitily would leave the crust,

i For other dogs to eat with dust.

■ ."

Suspicion grew. Some sheep betrayed
L Hie forms of havoc which he made ;
F And one was found secreted low
'In ditch, beside the hedge's row.

Or eke beneath the blasted thorn
That stood alone^ lihe man forlorn f
The Shepherd watch'd^ and shot the beast
At moment of his nightly feast.

Those who pretend to guard and guide.
Should watchful be on ev'ry side }
Should faithful to their master's fold.
Keep off the wolves — be brave and bold ;
Be humble too in mind and frame.
And seek to merit a good name.
Should guard their hearts, lest eye of fire
Be caught at moment of desire.
And so forgetting Master's powV,
Should study bow they may devour.

The faithful man will truly find
fidelity is never blind.
But infidelity will clog.
The heart with faults ; like worthless dog^
By day deceitful, and by night
Be hateful to his master's sight.

-4

211

THE ARTIST,

WomK for a name ! Go Btniy nature well.
Each line each feature of expression tell ;
Consider gesture^ posture, gait, and mien.
And see how faithfully thy God is seen.^-
Seen in those works where nature marks the hand
Of spirit masterly, — the world*s command !
See how majestic, grand, beyondr conceit.
Is nature's innocence ; His lore complete.
The sky, the air, the sun, the stars, the day.
The clouds, the seasons, all their God display ;
But man, most visibly in virtue's hour.
Displays the working of that mighty pow'r.
Go, study woman I thou wilt find in her.
Some vanity, yet virtue to prefer
The deeds of piety, more pure than man ;
Thou'lt find her mind will compass what it can
With full as much facility as thine.
With full as much as ever poets line
Could run with ease, and tell in simple measure.
How woman's worth is man's delightful treasmre.
Mark thou the outline of her graceful form,
Mark and remember man is but a worm,-^

212

Hast erer traced the lineaments of ease^
The softly pencil'd features sure to jileasc.
The eye of innocence, the smile of grace.
The lips of virtue in a lovely face ?
Sure thou hast wondered at the silver brow.
The smooth and placid surface, nature's glow
In colours varying, yet always clear.
To roan of honor, man of virtue desur.
Go study rocks, woods, hills, and shady dales.
Rivers and meads, glens, lakes, and pleasant vales.
Go study cattle, birds, beasts wild and tame.
House, castle, palace, anything with name ;
Then conjure phantcttll visionary schemes.
Days bold events, or nights attractive dreams : — ^
O study all ! ivhen perfect in their trace.
Return again, and study woman's face ; — '
For sure I am, there's nothing in the world.
Has so much beauty pleasantly unfurl'd.
Be brave at heart ! be generous, be kind.
Learn to love virtue. Providence, and mind -,
Thyself f espect, and Woman soon will be.
Pear as thyself, aye, ever dear to thee !
Her spirit too, transcendant as thine own.
Will rise with thine, at coming day unknown.
Work for a name ! thy pencil guide in truth.
Let wisdom prompt thee fearlessly in youtfi. —
Who studies nature, and improves his hearty
Will be an Artist of the noblest art.

213

GONE AWAY,

GoNB away ! gone away ! yoix forward away !
Go to him ! get forward ! now bravely my bay^
Lift the faead^ glance the eye, tip the hurdle in style.
Gallop on ! burst along! make the knowing ones smile.

O noble sport ! how oft I've seen.

At rising sun, the morning keen.

The glowing fields, with dew are reeking.

The coming chase, good run bespeaking,

O tell me nobles, if ye can,

A braver sport for Englishman !

Gone away ! gone away ! hark forward my steed,
Yoix Ranger ! good Forrester, capital breed.
Melanthus ! Old Growler, yah ! Stranger where now !
Hark the music ! yoix foi*ward, come join in the row.

215

Kow tell mf Hunters^ would ye say,
Tlie Poet wish'd to go away ?
Believe tbe ]me, he wou'd^ he wou'd.
Borne on the noble, free, and good ;
He wou'd, he won'd, with panting breath
Come in most gladly at the death I

Bat gone away 1 ah I gone away from me I
Not with regret, the Hunter's well-known glee !
. The chase I see, and many thousands scenes.
Break on my senses ! having past my teens.
Nature I view, and ardent dash along.
And sing with spirit, nature's lovely song,
Sports, works, employments, studies for the mind :-—
Id man, much mystery and love I find !
All living creatures, nay, the very ground
Is full of wonders, full of beauties found —
But most of all, forgive my prosing brain,
Nor think it hypocritical disdain,
Cant^ cringing cant, or fawning base deceit.
The sluggard's weapons to cajole and cheat—
Most, most of all, ah, prithee do not start,
I study closely to improve the heart I
I mount my horse, and gallop where I will.
Thoughts of God's goodness will my senses fill.

216

Turould seem sometime I hastened to the chase.
When all my speed is but for natare's face.
Free as the air I O thank my Father's love !
Who gave me ind^endence so to move.
But hold my hand I my senses gently stay.
My dear young firiends, behold the Gone Away !

^TB? ^^^rs^l,^ ^Kuz j^n- j t . ■''3^ Mt* >M«- >J ^ *^ '^

217

THE SKETCH OF A SKETCHER.

Some years ago^ uo matter how long sinccj
Such trifles surely no one need to mince^
The beaux and belles of this my native spot.
Were all assembled for a dance I wot 5
A coxcomb of&cer with bushy hair.
Such (shall I call them gentlemen ?) there are.
With boasted consequence, who strut and quiz.
And deem themselves of admirable fiz ;
Who think their coats attractive to the eye.
And foncy ladies for their sakes must die.
I've seen some such, who lift their lofty brows.
Rattle their swords, their sabre-tash dispose.
Curl their mustachios, and assume the swing
Offancied majesty I God bless the King !
But none of these have ever made me fear.
Nor would they had they thrust me with a spear.

F F

218

Think me not proud^ O men of war and fame t

I love and renerate the brave man's name.

But coxcomb impudence^ in pride of dress.

Who would be great in midst olP nothingness,

I cannot help it, sure I am to smile.

Whene'er I see them out ef rank and' file.

Strutting the^gauntlet in the ball-room's blaze.

Self, self-important, swelling for the gaze.

^Twas some such man, his name, Sir, in the town.

Was formerly, and is so quite well known :

i shall not tell it, but my pemcil's traee'

May bring to mind the features of his face;

In dishabille, he entered with his friend,

A sir, sir Somebody ! But pray attend : —

They look'd around on this, and that, and t'other.

Joked, laugh'd, and chuckled wisely with each other.

Their eyebrows lifting, then again compressing.

For no one caring, no one there addressing.

The talk of all, they secm'd to like the fun,

Forsake of noteriety 'twas done.

The one in question, boasted of his skilly

At duelling a dab, was sure to kill ;

And stood as high for some such mighty work.

As any Spaniard, Saracen, or Turk ;

Some talent he possess'd, and so to show it.

Determined as I've doiie,^ the world should know if >-

219

So down he -sat, and taking out his book.
Gave here and there significant a look ;
Then in his hat he mark'd the faces down^
Some with a smile, and others with a fVown ;
The ladies blush'd, the gentlemen disfnrb'd,
Yet no one thonglit the monster could be enrb'd.
At length, the doors unfolding in the room.
He saw a subject, aye ! a prime one come !
'Twas Mrs. Cobbold, — true in outward gait,
(God bless my Mother now in better state !)
From habits mild, and generous, and kind.
The surest index of a noble mind ;
From sedentary life, or happy tone
Of disposition, she was portly grown,
But never indolent ; he little knew
How great a woman came within his view.— r
The start of joy was kindled in his face.
And soon his pencil hasted to the trace.
Some ladies came to tell the hero's name.
His character, fats rudeness to proclaim.
At last one said i ** Look, look, he's sketching you ! "
^^ Ah ! is he ? let bim have a perfect view ;
^ Pray dear tbe way. Til sit myself at ease,
*^ In any way for sketching he may please,
^' And had I pencil, I would calmly try,
Such impudence to baflSe and defy.'-

220

Soon came the pencil, paper, to the scratch,

Tlie sketcher found a sketcher was his match ;

With steady hand she quietly began.

To mark the outline of this outre man ;

They sat few seconds, (bless my gentle mother !)

Composedly, fairly sketching one another*

1111 barefaced impudence outwitted blush 'd.

And out midst hisses of the ball-room rush'd !

Brave woman ! brave I thy wisdom gave retort.

In common justice, as a woman ought.

No angry frown, no pique, or pride, or fear.

No word of murmur spake disturbance near ;

The deed was done in gentleness of hand.

By spirit prompted I Such deeds must command.

Who marks in justice, lives in mercy too.

Loves while he lives, is humble, quiet, true.

Will ever find he has it in his pow'r.

To put down impudence at any hour.

321

THE STAGE.

Tub world's a Stage^ all nature is the scene.
The actorsj men, — spectator, God, I ween ;
I>ealh is the curtain, and belieye thou me.
The curtain fiiUs and soon will fall on thee.

Such was the motto years of boyhood made,
LfOng before pomp or pageantry betray'd
An ardent spirit into love of fame,
Liong before youth had thought of care or name.
How oft the curtain falling on the plain,
Becall'd that motto to my mind again ;
Nor see I aught to strike it from my view.
Aught that is false, unholy, or untrue ;
Aught so offensive, that the proud man's eye
May dare disdain it, or its truth deny ', —
Thou wilt not spurn it, gentle friendly maid.
Thou wilt not spurn it, nor my pen upbraid.

222

Nor think me sad, if serious or gaj,

I write a poem, trag^cdy, or play ;

All would be easy — easier to me

Than reading could be readily to thee ?

1 know the stage, the tricks the actors play.

And marie their characters as any may ;

I see the world, and note in merry mood.

The diflTrent scenes, and make them understood ;

I see varieties of parts men act,

And know by reasoning the false and fact.

The prompter speaks so loudly, he is heard

Through nature's theatre — he must be fear*d !

Behind the scenes, in thicket, castle, cave.

On mountain pass, or passing on the wave ;

In palace gay, or poverty's cold hut.

The actors play, and acting mostly strut.—

There is not one upon the world's wide stage.

Don't rage ye actors of the present age.

Should I but see him studying his part

I know directly if he learns by heart.

Go, act thy part, and fearlessly proceed,
Take for thy master. Spirit, and thou'lt speed !
Study thyself ! the nearer thou canst see
Thine imperfections, thou wilt nearer be
To wisdom's source ; the actor of a part.
Where every word is prompted from the heart.

229[

Tread tliou tb^ stage with manly step and mien.
And do thy duty in the passing scene.
The world's a stage where noble Christians paiKe,
Aivd care but little for the world's applause ^
They act their parts as wisely as they can.
At peace within, and fearful not of man ;
But pressing on, the mark they would attain.
Is present hope and future well-earn'd gain!^

My gen'rous friends, I love ye one and all.
And wish ^e happy at the curtain's fall >'
Together act we ; — Are we one in heart.
The stage will find we act a faithful part.

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225

THE SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER.

Wbosb form is that upon the beacon-height,

Close where the pile has burnt throughout the night ?

She stands alone, and casts her glance along

The bloody field, where yesterday the throng

Of marshall'd hosts in glittering array.

Stood awfully prepared for wild affray ?

lb Henrietta's : o'er her darkling brow.

Hie dreadful thought of battle cast its glow.

More gloomy still, as mists of morning fade

And rising sun dispehs the valley's shade ;

Her eye was watchful, strain'd with horror's glance

Toward the frontiers of fated France >

lliere mov'd the fire of tenderness and woe.

In face of terror, fearfulness of foe,

Not for herself ; Ono! a Fathers form —

Had it escaped the battle's dreadful storm ?

Was he returning victor^ crown 'd with fame—'

Or dead, and left her to revere his name ?

Awhile, the mists were ling'ring in the dell

And cloth 'd the valley ! Ah ! she could not tell,

226

But yet she looked, and wish'd^aed hoped^ andsigh'd^

And felt as almost certain he had died t

Her dark black locks hung sweeping o'er a face

Which had been ruddy^ but the feeling trace

Of deepest interest, made the featares wan ;

Twould move with agony the soul of man.

To paint expression such a moment fix'd

On countenance where pain and hope were mix'd.

With all the sorrow suffering could give, —

Anxiety for parent : Could he live ?

Ah ! now she saw through dimly fading mist>

The legions moying, conung, talking, hist I

The mingled voices louder^ clearer grow.

And now, she hears then^ mfore distinctly now :

The banners waving fan the morning air,«—

Her father's regiment ! Could he be there ?

He was I he was ! He saw his darling child.

And rushM to n^eet her, with a spirit wild : —

^' Sly Henrietta ! thou my -tender care,

'' The first my victory to see and share,

<< The danger's past, the battle's field is won,

<* The foe is beaten, overthrown, and gone."

<' God bless thee father ! may contentions cease !**

<< God bless thee child, God grant us lasting peace.

227

THE WRECK.

If tibere a gi^ef wlien o'er the foaming rnain^
The stately vessel labors in the gale ;
When pilot's hand^ or captain's voice is vain.
When billows rage and blasts o'er blasts prevail ;
When ev'ry heaipe the stately timbers strain.
And burst the shrouds and rend the quivering sail ;

Is Ihere a griefi man's harden'd heart can check ?

Q Hew with awe the melancholy wreck !

. Yo sailors, tell me ? I have seen your smile,
'hr Tour IooIls of joy observant on the sea,
'/: When homewardrbound the vessel comes in style,
'fy[ And nears the harbour or the well-known quay ;
' O tell me, tell me, sons of England's isle,
r- Who yet have hearts to suffer and be free,
Tflw who have trode so gallantly the deck,
]»it not grief to contemplate the Wreck ?

229

A lovely woman, O my heart ! my heart !
So fair, so handsome, formM in beauty's frame!
To see her false, I cannot bear the smart,
To see her faithless, wrecked without a name, —
A lovely woman act a worthless part.
Lost to herself, her family, and fame,
O sight of horror ! All my senses queck ! —
She, most of all, is melancholy wreck !

Can nature feel ? O think, my gentle friend.
If thinking ever can thy heart controul, —
If man, a builder of a vessel, bend
To see the ocean o'er his fabric roll.
What must the Maker feel, to see the end
Of one unhappy self-devoted soul.
Think thou in time, in time thy senses check.
Lest thou become a melancholy wreck.

231

THE QUARTETT.

Yu now. Sir, in a merry mood.

Perhaps I should be sad,
I cannot help it if I wou'd.

My line is very bad 9
Bat pardon it, you must not fetter.
One day perhaps you'll get a better*

The tale I tell, 'tis often told.
And tells against the teller.

To some His truly stale or old^
Like music to a seller ;

But never mind, at least I mean.

Look over all that may hare been*

Your pardon, friends, whcrercr now
This line may catch your eye,

I suffered more than you, I tow.
Accept apology !

And ladies, though you fit)wn'd on me,

You must not frown^ I honor ye.

•^

233

Well, well ! the tale !— One day I sat

lu lodgings at a village.
Be sure 'tis fact, I always hate.

From others works to pillage y
I copy no one ! still forsooth,
1*11 imitate whatcver*s truth.

My bass was busied by the bow^

My hand was on the string,
I play'd a hymn, be sure 'twas slow.

Perhaps God save the King !
Ko matter, 'tis enough to say,
1 play'd it ill — I could not play*

Rap at the door ; away went bass,

I wish away went sin,
I popt it in the open case.

And then I said, " come in ! " —
A gentleman ! he made his bow !

I hope you're well. Sir." " How d'ye do.

** I heard the bass, don't let me stay
*^ Your practice, pray proceed,

^ Tm fond of music and I play ;
** Of players we have need ! **

^< I wish I could," sfud humble I, —

«* You do, you do, so don't deny."

233

'* You're fond of music/ will you coni9

, *' Some eyeniug up to miae,

*^ My daughter and my wife are home, ,

^' Perhaps you'll come and dine ?
*' Your instrument yith leave 1*11 borr oir,
^* Pray say you'll come ! " " Til come to-monrpw/':

,» * *■

True to my word my case was sent,

A woeful lot befel me,
I went ; my (Cousins also went $

The same they all can tell ye ?
Alas ! alas ! I wish'd that day^
Had never been for me to play.— «!

The ladies at the harp, piano,

The gent the violin,
*a cannot play." "You can" "I can? No/'—

** Pray now, pray begin ?
" Come, come, he plays now, does he not?'
'< I've heard him play, I've not forgot !

*^ Indeed I do not know a note,
*' I am but a beginner,

^' On harmony I ever dote,
" Alas, a luckless sinner !

'' I would in earnest if I couldy

*^ But truly oannot if I would*"^

iff

l.«. I M

Bot stHl they kept addresaiss.
"Come try, ooir try t oblige vb p»y,
*' I know yon can, yoa can. Sir, play ! " — ■'

One, ime and aD, my consina too —

cousins, you irere clever I
Ye back 'd each o^er, as yede»

And may ye do bo ever !
Ye bather'd, botber'd me to play.
And made me angry j •* give me way, —

" Well, well I'll play." So down we sat,

1 really in a rage.

And wiah'd most heartily for hat.

To leave the troubled stage ;
Assuming Undley's very air.
One iojitant made me master there.—

Now play'd we this, now pTay'd we ttia^

Coald Lindley play, sir, better ^
Astonished were they, 1 was Rat,

2d5

That day^ 1 what was my cooditiofi,

I know not what uy praise^
I was^ O quite an acquisition.

Was certain of the bays !
O quite adored^ I played in style.
But never player played more vile.

A note ! not one 1 when they played loud^

I puU'd away the bow,
And seem'd of harmony quite proud.

And then apun played low ;
But as for music ! O my brain.
Be never such delight again !*-p

A hoax ! a hoax ! a hated hoax,

I could not bear my strain ;
It served me right for playing jokes,

I'll never play agaiu^
But such a scrape it got me into,
You cannot think it. 'Us in print ! O.

Another day I played away,

A music-master there, —
And so astonished at my play,

He could but look and stare.
Ah ! well he might, he clear'd the mote,
And said, I never played a note ! —

236

The joke is past, i suffered much.

As men of heart will do^
Whoever dare to yenture such

A foolish outward show.
That very night I went to bed.
And sent for surgeon and was bled<-

O never, sir, attempt to shine.

If passion, nature ui^e.
In way quite foreign to your line.

Lest nature play a dirge f
Do what you can, and do it well,
Aud nerer fear the truth to tell.

L.^ll

238

To arms^ to arms ! y c Grecians ! sons of war.
Yon host advancing, bids ye to the car !
Your legions rally ! bark Misenus sounds,
Greeks to the battle I ey'ry hero bounds !
Leaders, adrance ! address your men of fame.
Call on your warriors by godrlike name !
O bright Minerra, goddess of the day.
Grant to thy servants strength to cut their way !

Mars, great Mars t yon ranks of Trojan foe.
Grant we may prosper in their overthrow !

Ye sons of war, by every noble tie,

1 bid you combat, tremUe not to die.
By all the hecatombs of holy fire !
By all the honor of a Grecian sire !

By all the victories your swords have won I
By all the deeds your ancestors have done !
By Helen's charms ! ye suitors, by your vow !
I bid ye rise I and show your vengeance now.
Ye warrior^ who hold your honored lives.
As dearly precious as your loving wives.
The gods above have seen tiie Grecian fame,
And now avenge your Menelaus' shame !
Come then, advance ! let ev'ry soldier feel.
As sharp in batUe as his well-tried sted.
Behold the foe, and where ye make your stand.
Step on a step, or lay ye on the land*

fi39

Hand to tbe hilty tbe body to the sword,
Greeks, be ye Greeks, by gods and men adored 1 '

Such was the spirit when the gods iaiqiir'd.
And heroes dew till iieuriy they were tired ;
Tis mighty well, to traverse o^'er a plaia.
And cut down thousands, then to cut agiuo ;
Tis mighty well ! but blood of aneient fray,
Ne*er flew so freely as of later day.
Think what has flown within the last fiew yean^
Ye know me not a coward^ IVe no fears !
Bat were I mad, I'd strike the hostile blowy
And glory in the slaughter of the foe ;

I would bear me bravely on my steed.
My arm should strike or 1 would nobly bleed ;
War should be norine, be made for man or me ;

1 am not mad ! bat ebristian-like am free.

But whet of Greece ? Let Gredan poet i^.
How luxury destroyed her. Ah, 'tis well !
There scarce was one who fought for Helen's name^
That was not blind to pasirions much the same.
What virtue mov'd in great Achilles' breast f
A libertine was he ; — and what at best-—
Save here and there a solitary man,
Nestor or Heetor^--^very aneient clan?*

240

fiot wbat of Greece ? A ohurcli was planted th^re^
And flk>urisfaed freely 'neath the christian care ;
When Rome had vanquished them, though Grecians fell
More by their indolenee than foeman's spell^
A christian church was planted in their land.
And Greeks were free ! their freedom is at hand*
But where is Greece^ or Rome, or haughty Sp«n ?
Where are their glories ? Will they come again ?
Their nobles linked in chains of slavish pride.
Revelled in luxury and shame defied !
Gamesters, and what— ^I will not stain the line.
Pollution foster *d them, they now repine*
Greeks as they were } Italians Romans were >
Greeks, Romans, Spaniards, teU me what they are ?
Corruption came^ reduced them in the scale.
Corruption cannot very long prevail >
Where now is Babylon ? Egyptian fame ?
Where now is Ninevah ? they have but name !
Where are the Greeks ? O England, shame to say.
Thou hast been backward, backward in the day.
When foremost bravely in a noble work.
Ye might have spoken boldly to the Turk.
Was it through gratitude, distaste of war.
Ye let the infidel proceed-so far ?
Or was it as Franciscan friar saith.
Your noble reverence for christian faith ?

241

When christians eare not for a christian brother.
How keep they faith with any or each other.

"Tis past ! but other things T^ill come to pasd.
Stability no doubt will keep the massr ;
But take the warning Britons, Christians too>
Do as ye would, ye would have others do.
Look sharp at home I^-^When nobles, inen of fame,
Statesmen and senators, all men of name.
For gambling lust, and lusting more for pride.
The good of others feelingly deride ;
When warriors in tinsel pomp arrayed.
Seek but the glory of a vain parade i
When joint-stock companies for cent per cent.
From noble patrons take the gambling bent ;
And sad luxurious, enervating schemes.
Fill with debauchery their midnight dreams ;
When wisdom sleeps, and virtue has but name,
Where will be glory ? where be England's fame?

O call the Poet, mad dissembling fool.
Brought up at home in hypocritic school ;
Call him a knave, a pedant, what yoii will.
You cannot silence liim unless you kill ;
II

242

For no contempt, nor any human scorn.
Cares be one atom, — ^he is free — ^free-bom ;
Nor cares he either whilst he fires on earth.
To leave tins place the province of his birth.
Still will he cry to christians of the land.
Be good at heart, for glory is at hand ;
Remember Greece I Of Babylon beware !
Greeks what they were ! O see them as they are !

248

THE DANCING-MASTER'S BALL.

How prettily foot it, the innocent throng,

O lightly and brisk as the stream,
Which flowing successfully murmurs along.

Like the visions of night's pleasing dream.

childhood ! how happily passes the day.
In innocent frolic delight ;

Your troubles are trifles, your sorrows ne'er stay.
They are past as a watch in the night.

Thou dear little throng ! O I long to express.
How tenderly fluttered my heart ;

1 long'd to applaud, or to give my caress.

Fur so prettily dancing your part.

Go on little children, through life dance as well.
May your visions of happiness come;

May your Master be pleased, and your holidays tell.
That your hearts arc contented at home.

-Lhir

If ■itf.t,^,- I _.^.„i^,d„

241*

THE REMOVAL,

T^B poor old Cottaj^er must bid adieu ;
Of house, home, garden, take a parting view ;— «
Hia work is done, his day of fv:oe is come.
The parish workhouse now mu3t be his home*

Poor Johnny ! many, many a happy day,
niine has been lot to saddle the old grey.
Let loose the dog, and ope the gate hard bye.
And see thy masterdown the valley hie.

Oft hast thou smiled, when college days were o'er.
To see that master and his steed once more i
To welcome one who never gave thee frown ;
The old white steed, again to rub him down.

Say, is there grief to visit in decline
An aged servant, who had once been thine ?
To see the struggle 'twixt the hope and pain
Of active spirit, which would work again ?

242*

Say^ is there grief to note his anxious look ?
Scarce will the generous such moment brook ;
But sad necessity the truth must tell.
And poor old Johnny too must say^ farewell !

To see each day some furniture depart :
There stood the clock ! O poverty, thy smart !
First goes the time-piece which will click no more.
And then the carpet, or the cupboard's store ;

The neat brass candlestick is taken down.
The chairs are vanishing, the fender's flown ;
The plates are gone, the walls are getting bare |
The poor old woman too is full of care.

Hard is the struggle to obtain relief.
And deep the suffering of honest grief!

would that industry when full of pay.
Would lay by something for a rainy day.

1 wish that wisdom could propose a plan.
To keep from poverty the working man ^
To make them club, in proper time to save.
And satisfy when indigence would crave.

i4»

O I should loTe to see the hardy race, '
Resume that English, independent fiice.
Which loves the eottage of contentment moM
Than idle laziness at workhouse door.

But poor old Johnny, 'twas in vain for me
To give my pittance to necessity ;
Thy hopes grew less, and sighing thus 'twas said,
^< To leave this place wiU kUl roe, Vm afraid V

Mine was the lot to soothe, to lessen woe.
To bid thee fear not, if the word * must go,'
** Must go, dear master,'^ must be said again,
*' O take thou comfort in the midst of pun/'

The day is come, removal must be made i
Far, far away, thy destiny was laid.
The parish-officer had spoke the word.
To keep thee longer no one could aflford : —

^' My cottage! where so often I have known
<' Joys which are past, for ever, ever flown ;
<^ My master I'* poor old fellow 'twas the sound,
'' God bless thee, master I I am homeward bound I

»f

2U«

To Bee the tear^ yeftf see the tear of woe
Adown the cheek of aged veteran flow,— «
Bear it I eould not, so I tum'd away,
And gallopp'd homeward to record the day.

Be sure of this, dear maiden, thou hast heart,
I never wish thy ioyer may depart. '
Tis some sach feeling I shall one day know.
When leaving Ipswich, I shall say, ^ must go !'
May'st thou be happy, take the Poet's line,
O may Removal be to heaven thine !

245

KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

Honor the King ! — Pray tell me, tell me how ?
Must worship him as God ? O no, no, no 1
Kings are but mortal ! honor lasts its day ; ,
His Majesty and ministers must pass away.
If ranks of men for mutual support^
To laws of wisdom happily resort>
With one consent acknowledging a King,
Their lord and governor, and kindly bring
The grateful tribute in affection trjuc.
Say, not they pay him grudgingly his due.
Kings have great cares, temptations more than we,
Much to discharge to make their people free.
No compion lot the sway of England's crown,
In times of trouble ministers have kno^n ;
Long may they know that wisdom is a plant.
More strong in structure than the elephant ;

246

Sirift as the horse, as patient as the slavey
Free as the light'ning, fearless as the brave ;
Sharp as the sword, more subtle than the snake.
Alive to liberty, to love awake : —
Long may this knowledge actuate the great.
Preserve the King, his nunisters, and state^

Say not, ye furious, I write this line
To flatter any one, to seek to shine.
To «ourt the great, to praise the rich and proud.
To gain the plaudits of the assembled crowd :
I write for love, and rather would I cr^ye
Good will of one, that one in spirit brave.
Than court for Sovereigns what I could not bear,
Or say a word with sycophantic air^
Pause then my friend, and whilst thou view'st the Kiog,
Thine heart's affection tribute let it bring.

Hast thou a father ? has he been to thee
That which a parent to a child should be ?
The King had his, who was to hira as much.
And had he children would himself be such.
King George the Tliird, the father of his race.
My pencil's touch can ill describe his iiice.
Ne'er saw I Majesty ! — Some stately tree.
Oak, ash, or maple, has appeared to me

247

Of form majestic ; but a mighty king

1 never saw one — ^ncver saw such thing !

King George the Third I report^ or love, or fame.

If as stampt amongst us honor on his name ;

In life domestic, he was lov'd of those

Who lov'd themselves, and fought against his foes.

Thou lov*st thyself. — I pray thee let us sing,

With hearts of honesty, God save the King !

249

•THE BALL ROOM.

Yb beaux and belles, be angry if ye will,
I cannot help it ; — bum my silly line,
^ You'll find again I'll mend my weary quill,
And write another, quite a superfine.

^' Ah, how d'ye do ; I hope you're well 5
^< Is Lady A., that merry belle,
^^ So gay to night all love disarming,
'^ So young, so novel, and so charming ? "
^' I vow my Lord you've lost your heart,
"You've felt the wound of Cupid's dart ;
"The Colonel says, if not a scoffer,
*^ That truly you have made an offer."
- V <^ 'Tis true I have, to go to France ; —
" Your Ladyship perhaps will dance ?'
^^ No, not to night, I am indeed
" At best as yet, an invalid.
" What sort of ball will be to night ?
" Is Lord Excessive wrong or right ?

k»

2S0

^' A silly matter was it not?
'< But silence, I had nigh forgot,
** Your Lordship may a party be, —
" I blush for my temerity/'

*' Ah, Mr. Fortune ! you from home,
" Pray tell me, are the stewards come ?"
*' Not yety Sir William dines to-day,
** With Horace Riot on his way.
^' But Lady B. what brings you here ?
'^ I hope you are not insincere.'^
'^ Could not withstand, could not forego
<' The hope of meeting fashiop's beau ;
*' The great Sir Peter's coming down,
'' With Lady Ann and Lord Renown,
'' And how could any one refuse
'^ To meet the lover of the muse ;
** Ah ! well, good bye, — I see your glance,—
'^ You're looking for Miss M. to dance."

*' Sir John, you're well ! the war's begun^
" The troops are sailed, the rebels run ;
'' Come tell me now, was that report,
« Of Mr. D. of fashion's sort ?
" Or was it fact ? I'm sure you know ! **
" By JoYc I do not. — ^May be so,—

€1

251

*^ I nerer knew the fellow muchi
I always thought he would be sucfa^ —
The Admiral can tell yon best,
'' He dined to-day with Captain Test.
" Pray who*8 the belle ? Is Mary Gay,
*^ With Lady Faceall, here to-day ?
" Upon my word a lovely giri,
^< Fit for a waltz, a nimble whirl ;
'' But hang that duchess her duenna,
'^ I wish her farther, at Vienna.
<' Is she not in ev*ry feature
" Quite divine ? a lovely creature I
** Come tell me plainly, do you know
" A girl with such a pretty toe ?
" Her arms, her fingers, *pon my word
'^ I almost wish myself a lord I
*' And were 1 single, I would fain
" For such a girl be tied again."
^' Come, come. Sir John ! Til go and tell
*' My Lady Vixen. — Fare ye well."

^^ Mamma ! mamma ! it is too bad,
" The stewards make us very sad ;
^^ Sir William said we need not fear,
*^ At ten precisely he'd be here ;
'^ Tis now eleven ! what a shame,
" To have it said he never came."

252

<^ Husli, hush^ my dear ! pray not £0 loud^
*^ You're over anxious, 'tis a crowd,
" You cannot see about the room,
^^ He is perhaps already come.
'* Tliey will not wait whenever D.,

Appears as usual in glee,
*^ The dancers then may trip away ;

Don't be alarm'd, — don't pout I pray."

((

'< What Charles ! ah, Charley ! how d'ye do I
" Where sat ye down ? Hey, hey ! 1 know,
" I'll bet a guinea you've been slaying ;
^^ Didst win or lose by Blackmore's playing.
^' How many birds hast shot as yet ?
'^ Not many brace I'll make a bet."
'^ 'Tis ten to one I ah ! ten to one,
'^ I like than this some better fun ;
" I wish for all these dancing dames,
*^ They'd let me play my merry games !
^' O William ! such a run to-day !
/^ Old Hunter's hounds, sir, went away
'^ Prom Froston heath to Froggey moor ;
*< And then to Narrow-neck, and o'er
<^ From Bluster wood to Blunder hill,
^' And after all we did not kill."
^< O dear ! O dear ! a good night's rest,
^' For all this tripping it, is best."

253

€t

Upon my word, a pretty lass !
^^ Tom d'ye see her ? take your glass !
<^ A pair of eyes will piake you feel,
'^ Unless your substance be of steel !"
^' A doll ! a doll ! a pretty doll !
'^ En passant, pretty well, toll loll !"

" I hope Miss Fidget's pretty well ?"
^^ I have not seen her, cannot tell I "
*^ Not here to night ? " — '* No, no, not out,
^^ You saw her at an evening rout*
^^ But ladies must not come among
^^ Us fashionables when so young,
" Good time for her these many years, —
'^ Excuse a guardian's tender fears."
'^ O certainly, you're very kind,
^^ A woman of such taste and mind,
^' She must I'm sure be truly blest,
^' You do at all times for the best.**
^^ Why yes, as well as guardians can,
" No little care to keep our plan."

<< Miss Knowall, pray do see that romp,
^^ I saw her give the man a thump ;
^^ Was ever such a shameful sight
^^ Beheld on any other night ?

254

** Pray sec, there's Mist De Paaper here —

" Her father'i bankmpt — bad 1 fear ;

** Metbinbs propriety wonld say,

" YouDg lady you should stay avay.

** Observe Miss Rattle's swing and bounce,

" Miss RaggH's top. Miss Folly's flounce,

*■ Do see that minx bo sweetly pure,

" So diffident ! ah, pshaw, demure ! —

" She smiles when red-coats praise her name

" So seeraing' imiocent of shame !

" Look, looli, a match ! I'm sure 'tis eo,

" He's just the uao, the very beau."

" Your humble servant Mrs. £.
"A famous ball it is to be.
" A moment looh at Lady X.,
" She loves to dazzle and perplex,
"Her jewels worth ten thousand pounds ;
"They say Sir Thomas sold his hounds
"To pay her debts ; good husbands will
" Forgive our ventures at qaadrille.
" My Mr. T., a dear good lord,
"Must neversaya single word,
" He lost at T's in twenty rounds,
" The sum of forty thousand pounds !
" I won at Lady Fancy's rout
" A hundred, some where there about ! "

255

'^ You cruel creature, I have heard
*^ Your favorite is now cashier*d,
*^ Ah well, I need not try to smother,
*' You'll just as quickly find another*'*
^* She is not handsome, pinched so tight
^' She makes herself appear a fright,
^* She's like a stick ; how any man
*^ To call her features handsome can,
** With eyes that positively squint ;
" Her fortune, were it all the mint,
*' Would never make her change that gait,
" Which I know what, will be her fate."

" All, Mr. Broker ! what's the news ?
" You live within the land of Jews.
" Pray how are stocks, a rise or fall ?
*^ Arc Spanish bonds in hand at all ?
" What says that minister of cares,
" Our friend of France and foreigners ?
*' I cannot bear such depth of planning,
" I always studied Mr. Canning.
** He's very elegant no doubt,
" Can twist his lingo too about,
*^ But as for wisdom, split my brain,
<' He's fit for minister of Spain.
'< Now look ye, there 8 a heart of oak,
<^ That man^ 'tis more than pleasing joke.

257

" Ah well ! you will be always killiDg ;
" Go, go ! I say adieu, unwilling/'

Most willingly I speak and write.
Dear friends, adieu ! Good night ! good night !
I hope and trust the poet's ball.
May give you pleasure, please you all.
No scorn, ill-nature, hate, or spleen
Dwells in the house, St. Margaret's Green !
Your partners here, where I preside.
Must promise this, — to put off pride.
A gentleman can always be,
A gentleman of honesty ;
A lady always may be known.
More by her manners than her gown«
With love and truth, again I write
The parting words, — ^Adieu ! good night !

•I MH I
.>UJ.

»K' . I— -nMit vitunif^n Mil
•ify« 1 MMw* *HM1* (lilt «

259

THE FINALE.

How grand the orchestra, where all in tune^
Play to the end harmonious strain of love.
Where Perfect Leader, with a grace triune
Stands to direct on eminence above I
How sweetly chaunt the choral joyful throng.
In praise of harmony the heavenly song.

But we on earth contented must remain^
To play at present an imperfect strain.
Think'st thou the talents wisdom has bestowed.
Become not perfect in the blest abode ?
Who speaks of nature ? Will the Poet*8 line
On earth confined, when wisdom comes to shine,
Have less and less of inspiration's tongue,
Or, he be called to sing a simpler soiig ?

260

O no ! the spirit panting in his form.
Tells him the truth, — he is at best a worm.
E'en now, when music wakens in his mind.
The diflTrent feelings of a state confin'd ;
In cvYy chord some sympathy is found.
Responsive movements in his bosom bound.
The grandest overture can call his soul
From selfish feeling, and expand the whole ;
The whole of spirit, generous and brave.
That loves to feel how providence can save.
How oft, when mortals drawing forth the tune
Of numbered instruments which seem but one,
The strictest harmony in concert made.
Where none digress, where none their parts evade.
How oft his soul aspiring to the High,
Has dwelt on love, on thought of Majesty.
Methink me now, if Christian's could but play
In perfect friendship through tiic present day,
How truly faithful would their wishes blend.
And love bring on the promised, sought-for end.
A Grand Finale ! glorious in peace i
Will make in triumph every discord cease.
And mortals changing from a war-like strain.
Arise to harmony and live again.

But hold my heart. Here something must be said
For imperfections, both to man and maid.

261

'Tls true that harmony is formed of love ;
. 'TIs true that virtue is from God above ;
'Tis true that truth should ever be preserv*d ;
'Tis true from duty ivc should none have swerv*d ;
But all have faiFd ; the very best of all,
Have something to remember, to recall, .
Something to wish they never had begun,
Something to say they wish they had not done.
Who plays a passage even to the letter.
And finds not some day he can play it better ?
Who prints a book, and when the type is stampt.
Finds not in parts his genius is crampt ?
Who sees not errors in himself, must be
The farthest off the truth and piety.
But imperfection is in ev*ry plan.
In ev'ry work, in ev'ry task of man ;
I'll show ye some in ev'ry book I read,
Save that of Faith, the Christian's Holy Creed.
The closest reasoner, not always terse.
Is oft obscure, especially in verse ;
The man of theory will one day find,
A false position pictured on his mind ;
The critic's judgment often may be found,
Too like his flesh, conceited and unsound.
But this I know, wherever error is.
The best excuse and argument is this :

262

Re DOt too proud, in wisdom feel a zest.
And fear not ehristian-Iike to do tby best ;
Hope to improre, and mind irhat others say»
Still use thy jadgracnt and pursue thy way ;
In time thou It find conviction will set forth,
That which is wrong, and that possessing worth.
Forgive my errors ; — ^take the line of friend, —
I wish thee happy even to thine end.
Imperfect work, amusement of the year.
Speak thou the sentiments of one sincere, —
Succeed or not, or please, or rouse thee ill.
Some will caress thee ! yea, I know they will, —
Say but one word, one feeling humbly tell
In charity to all, — ^O say, farewell I

FINIS.

Printed hy E.Shnlden,

>J m

vOBBOLD (Richard) Valentine Venies, or, Lines of Truth, I^ve, and Virtue, n
^gkn Ud pen-and-ink sketches by tke atUkor, Ipswick, 1827, 8vo, a nice copy in orig.

WSk ^'^^1 P^P^ label, scarce

'.a iinlf Dumber printed, and was rifidly suppretted." This note is written in pencil inside fro

DeAcBtkNi,/Vr iDdepeadutlj muf ladepeBdBBtljr.
Page 19. Une 7, fir hisraet read Imio.

65. Hne 9. /Ir iDrt rmtf forlr.

95. line l./br >flUctto— read raflcct i oiw .

^ •

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