TO A YOUNG FRIEND,

ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR.

COMPOSED IN 1796.

A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep,
Or coloured lichens with slow oosing weep;

Where cypress and the darker yew start wild;
And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brightened the red clusters of the ash;

Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguiled, Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep; Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, That rustling on the bushy clift above,

With melancholy bleat of anxious love,

Made meek inquiry for her wandering lamb :
Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb,
E'en while the bosom ached with loneliness-

How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless
The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!

:

O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,-
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now to unlock
The treasured heart; arm linked in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatched distance lag;
Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag

Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears
That shadowing PINE its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain the enamoured sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
Tinged yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basoned in some unsunned cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretched on the crag, and shadowed by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,

While west-winds fanned our temples toil-bedewed:
Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount,

To some lone mansion, in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye, DOMESTIC BLISS
Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's kiss!

Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore,
The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace ;
That verdurous hill with many a resting-place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad, and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod

Where INSPIRATION, his diviner strains

Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!

O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world up-lifted high,
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply)

There, while the prospect through the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same,
As neighbouring fountains image, each the whole :
Then when the mind hath drank its fill of truth,
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
They whom I love shall love thee.

Honoured youth!

Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!

LINES TO W. L., ESQ.

WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC.
WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear:
L- !methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE

WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND
CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY.

HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe,
O Youth to partial fortune vainly dear!
To plundered Want's half-sheltered hovel go,
Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear
Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear:

Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood

O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm-leaves strewed,
Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part
Was slaughtered, where o'er his uncoffined limbs
The flocking flesh-birds screamed! Then, while thy heart
Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)
What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resigned,
All effortless thou leave life's common-weal
A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.

SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.
DEAR native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy, and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,

But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,

Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that veined with various dies
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs :
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!

SONNET

TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME.

CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scanned that face of feeble infancy :

For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst

All I had been, and all my child might be !

But when I saw it on its Mother's arm,
And hanging at her bosom (she the while
Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile)
Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm
Impressed a Father's kiss: and all beguiled
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,
I seemed to see an angel-form appear-
'Twas even thine, beloved woman mild !

So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear,
And dearer was the Mother for the Child.

SONNET.

COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH OF A SON,

SEPTEMBER 20, 1796.

OFT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll
Which makes the present (while the flash doth last)
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,
Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul
Self-questioned in her sleep : and some have said*
We lived, ere yet this robe of Flesh we wore.
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead,
(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear)
I think that I should struggle to believe

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere
Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve;

Didst scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve,
While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

ITS balmy lips the Infant blest
Relaxing from its Mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent Satiety !

And such my Infant's latest sigh!
O tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.

* Ην που ημων η ψυχη πριν εν τωδε τω ανθρωπινω είδει γενεσθαι.

PLAT. IN PHÆDON,

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN.

COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN, IN A CATHOLIC
VILLAGE IN GERMANY.

DORMI, Jesu! Mater ridet,
Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!

Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
Inter fila cantans orat

Blande, veni, somnule.

ENGLISH.

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
Mother sits beside thee smiling:
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
Singing as her wheel she turneth:
Come, soft slumber, balmily!

TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE.

IMITATED FROM STOLBERG,

I.

MARK this holy chapel well!

The Birth-place, this, of WILLIAM TELL.
Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Stood his parents' marriage-bed.

II.

Here first, an infant to her breast,

Him his loving mother prest;

And kissed the babe, and blessed the day,

And prayed as mothers use to pray.

III.

"Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give

The Child thy servant still to live!

But God had destined to do more

Through him, than through an armed power.

IV.

God gave him reverence of laws,

Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause

A spirit to his rocks akin,

The eye of the Hawk, and the fire therein !

V.

To Nature and to Holy writ
Alone did God the boy commit