Of joys, that glimmered in hope's twilight ray, Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. O pleasant days of hope-for ever gone!— Could I recall you!-But that thought is vain. Availeth not persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged travellers back again : Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Like the bright rainbow on an evening stream.
ALE Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want and scorn! The world is pitiless: the chaste one's pride Mimic of virtue scowls on thy distress: Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride: And vice alone will shelter wretchedness! O! I am sad to think that there should be Cold-bosomed lewd ones, who endure to place Foul offerings on the shrine of misery, And force from famine the caress of Love; May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace He, the great Comforter that rules above
WEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy gray
Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tattered vest
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child: And thou shalt talk in our fireside's recess, Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness. He did not scowl, the Galilean mild,
Who met the Lazar turned from rich man's doors, And called him friend, and wept upon his sores!
HOU bleedest, my poor heart! and thy distress
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile,
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. Why didst thou listen to hope's whisper bland?
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, When jealousy with feverous fancies pale Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand? Faint was that hope, and rayless!—Yet 'twas fair, And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest: Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest, And nursed it with an agony of care,
Even as a mother her sweet infant heir That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ROBBERS.
CHILLER! that hour I would have wished
If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent That fearful voice, a famished father's cry- That in no after moment aught less vast Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout Black horror screamed, and all her goblin rout From the more withering scene diminished past! Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity!
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood! Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood: Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF
BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE,
ITH many a pause and oft reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet song-
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: Far off the unvarying cuckoo soothes my ear. Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock That on green plots o'er precipices browse: From the forced fissures of the naked rock
The yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs ('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white) Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, I rest-and now have gained the topmost site. Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud towers, and cots more dear to me, Elm-shadowed fields, and prospect-bounding sea! Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear: Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!
IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love To rest thine head beneath an olive tree, I would, that from the pinions of thy dove One quill withouten pain yplucked might be!
For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee, And fain to her some soothing song would write, Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,
Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light, But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight!
Last night as I my weary head did pillow With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrost, Chill fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow, As though my breast entombed a pining ghost. "From some blest couch, young rapture's bridal Rejected slumber! hither wing thy way; [boast, But leave me with the matin hour, at most! As night-closed floweret to the orient ray, My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, Contrived a too successful wile, I ween: And whispered to himself, with malice fraught— "Too long our slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen: To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien!"
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