MELANCHOLY.*

A FRAGMENT.

STRETCH'D on a mouldered Abbey's broadest

wall,

Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steepHer folded arms wrapping her tattered pall, Had Melancholy mus'd herself to sleep.

The fern was press'd beneath her hair, The dark green adder's tongue † was there; And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak, The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,

Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,

And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought.

Strange was the dream

*See Note.

1794.

† A botanical mistake. The plant which the poet here describes is called the Hart's Tongue. [But see vol. i. p. 294 Note.]

COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS AND IN ABSENCE.*

DIM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar,
O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car!

Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove,
And give me to the bosom of my Love!
My gentle Love! caressing and carest,
With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest ;
Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes,
Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs;
While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,
Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek.
Chill'd by the night, the drooping rose of May
Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day:
Young Day, returning at her promised hour,
Weeps o'er the sorrows of the fav'rite flower,—
Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs,
And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes.
New life and joy th' expanding flow'ret feels:
His pitying mistress mourns, and mourning heals!

* See Note.

1796.

THE VISIT OF THE GODS.

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER.

NEVER, believe me,

Appear the Immortals,

Never alone:

Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus ! but in came boy Cupid the smiler;
Lo! Phoebus the glorious descends from his throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
With divinities fills my

Terrestrial hall!

How shall I yield you

Due entertainment,

Celestial quire?

Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of

upbuoyance,

Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,

That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!

O give me the nectar!

O fill me the bowl!

Give him the nectar!

Pour out for the poet,
Hebe! pour free!

Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,

That Styx the detested no more he may view, And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be! Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Pæan, I cry!

The wine of the Immortals

Forbids me to die!

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

1798

I.

THE shepherds went their hasty way.
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:

And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,
A mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

II.

They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone, suspending night!

While sweeter than a mother's song,
Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

III.

She listened to the tale divine,

And closer still the Babe she prest ;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!

The milk rushed faster to her breast:

Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is

born.

IV.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate ! That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate? Sweet music's loudest note, the poet's story, Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

V.

And is not War a youthful king,

A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;

Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail

Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright

eye

Compels the maiden's love confessing sigh.