For Julio's death, whom Honor made me kill?
Or will this lordly Honor tell the way
pay those debts, which Honor makes me pay ? Or if with pistol and terrific threats
I make some traveller pay my Honor's debts,
A med'cine for this wound can Honor give?
Ah, no! my Honor dies to make my Honor live.
But see! young Pleasure, and her train advance,
And joy and laughter wake the inebriate dance;
Around my neck she throws her fair white arms,
I meet her loves, and madden at her charms.
For the gay grape can joys celestial move,
And what so sweet below as Woman's love?
With such high transport every moment flies,
I curse experience, that he makes me wise;
For at his frown the dear deliriums flew,
And the chang'd scene now wears a gloomy hue.
A hideous hag th' Enchantress Pleasure seems,
And all her joys appear but feverous dreams
The vain Resolve still broken and still made,
Disease and loathing and remorse invade e;
The charm is vanish'd and the bubble's broke,—
A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke!"
Such lays repentant did the Muse supply;
When as the Sun was hastening down the sky,
In glittering state twice fifty guineas come,—
His Mother's plate antique had rais'd the sum.
Forth leap'd Philedon of new life possest:-
'Twas Brookes's all till two,-'twas Hackett's all
the rest!
DEEP in the gulph of Vice and Woe
Leaps man at once with headlong throw?
Him inborn Truth and Virtue guide,
Whose guards are shame and conscious pride;
In some gay hour Vice steals into the breast;
Perchance she wears some softer Virtue's vest.
By unperceiv'd degrees she tempts to stray,
Till far from Virtue's path she leads the feet away.
Then swift the soul to disenthrall
Will Memory the past recall,
And fear before the Victim's eyes
Bid future ills and dangers rise.
But hark! the voice, the lyre, their charms comGay sparkles in the cup the generous wine; Th' inebriate dance-the fair frail nymph inspires, And Virtue vanquish'd-scorn'd—with hasty flight
But soon to tempt the pleasures cease;
Yet shame forbids return to peace,
And stern necessity will force
Still to urge on the desperate course.
The drear black paths of Vice the wretch must try, Where Conscience flashes horror on each eye, Where Hate-where Murder scowl-where starts
Ah! close the scene,-ah! close-for dreadful is the sight.
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY
THE HOUSE OF THE MAN OF ROSs."
RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords,
Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth;
He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of
He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow shrivelled captive lay,
Pour'd the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray.
Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass:
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought;
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt,
And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt!
DESTRUCTION OF THE BASTILE.
HEARD'ST thou yon universal cry,
And dost thou linger still on Gallia's shore?
Go, Tyranny! beneath some barbarous sky
Thy terrors lost, and ruin'd power deplore!
What tho' through many a groaning age
Was felt thy keen suspicious rage,
Yet Freedom rous'd by fierce Disdain
Has wildly broke thy triple chain,
And like the storm which earth's deep entrails hide, At length has burst its way and spread the ruins wide.
In sighs their sickly breath was spent; each gleam Of Hope had ceas'd the long long day to cheer; Or if delusive, in some flitting dream,
gave them to their friends and children dear-
Awak'd by lordly Insult's sound
To all the doubled horrors round,
Oft shrunk they from Oppression's band
While anguish rais'd the desperate hand
For silent death; or lost the mind's control,
Thro' every burning vein would tides of Frenzy roll.
But cease, ye pitying bosoms, cease to bleed! Such scenes no more demand the tear humane; see, I see! glad Liberty succeed
With every patriot virtue in her train !
And mark yon peasant's raptured eyes;
Secure he views his harvests rise;
No fetter vile the mind shall know,
And Eloquence shall fearless glow.
Yes! Liberty the soul of Life shall reign, Shall throb in every pulse, shall flow thro' every vein !
Shall France alone a Despot spurn ?
Shall she alone, O Freedom, boast thy care?
Lo, round thy standard Belgia's heroes burn,
Tho' Power's blood-stain'd streamers fire the air,
And wider yet thy influence spread,
Nor e'er recline thy weary head,
Till every land from pole to pole
Shall boast one independent soul !
And still, as erst, let favor'd Britain be
First ever of the first and freest of the free!
|