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And art thou fled, thou welcome orb?
The beam of ardour dies.
TO CAPEL LOFFT, ESQ.
Thou sinkest into rest; But I, in vain, on thorny bed
LOFFT, unto thee one tributary song Shall woo the god of soft repose
The simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring; She longs to lisp thee to the listening throng,
And with thy name to bid the woodlands ring.
Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild,
Would say how thou didst foster kindred worth
And to thy bosom snatch'd Misfortune's child;
Firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal, LOUD rage the winds without.-The wintry cloud Upright, and learned, as the Pylian sire, [lyre, O'er the cold north star casts her flitting shroud; Would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the And Silence, pausing in some snow-clad dale, And show thy labours for the public weal. Starts as she hears, by fits, the shrieking gale;
Ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme, Where now, shut out from every still retreat,
But ah! she shrinks abash'd before the arduous Her pine-clad summit, and her woodland seat,
TO THE MOON.
Written in November.
As sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale What merry groups of vacant faces crowd;
Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge. These hail his coming-these his meal prepare, Now Autumn sickens on the languid sight, And boast in all that cot no lurking care.
And leaves bestrew the wanderer's lonely way,
Now unto thee, pale arbitress of night, What, though the social circle be denied,
With double joy my homage do I pay. Even Sadness brightens at her own fireside,
When clouds disguise the glories of the day, Loves, with fix'd eye, to watch the fluttering blaze,
And stern November sheds her boisterous blight, While musing Memory dwells on former days; How doubly sweet to mark the moony ray Or Hope, bless'd spirit! smiles—and still forgiven,
Shoot through the mist from the ethereal height, Forgets the passport, while she points to Heaven.
And, still unchanged, back to the memory bring Then heap the fire-shut out the biting air,
The smiles Favonian of life's earliest spring. And from its station wheel the easy chair: Thus fenced and warm, in silent fit, 'tis sweet To hear without the bitter tempest beat. All, all alone-to sit, and muse, and sigh, The pensive tenant of obscurity.
AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND.
FAST from the West the fading day-streaks fly,
And ebon Night assumes her solemn sway, Yet here alone, unheeding time, I lie,
and o'er my friend still pour the plaintive lay. Oh! 'tis not long since, George, with thee I wood
The maid of musings by yon moaning wave, And hail'd the moon's mild beam, which now
The noise of revelry still echoes round,
Yet still I weep o'er thy deserted mound.
OH! thou most fatal of Pandora's train,
Consumption ! silent cheater of the eye; Thou com'st not robed in agonizing pain,
Nor mark'st thy course with Death's delusive dye,
But silent and unnoticed thou dost lie;
And, while thou giv'st new lustre to the eye,
I knew would never stay, till all consumed,
In the cold vault of death he were entomb'd.
Insidious ravager, I saw thee fly
Preparing swift her passage to the sky.
The liquid lustre of her fine blue eye;
And dissolution hover'd o'er her head : Even then so beauteous did her form appear,
That none who saw her but admiring said,
Sure so much beauty never could be dead.
MISFORTUNE, I am young, my chin is bare,
And I have wonder'd much when men have told, How youth was free from sorrow and from care, That thou shouldst dwell with me, and leave the
old. Sure dost not like me!-Shrivell'd hag of hate,
My phiz, and thanks to thee, is sadly long;
I am not either, Beldam, over strong;
AS thus oppress'd with many a heavy care,
(Though young yet sorrowful,) I turn my feet
To the dark woodland, longing much to greet
Fills my sad breast; and, tired with this vain coil,
When I no more can hear, these woods will speak
YES, 'twill be over soon.-This sickly dream
Of life will vanish from my feverish brain;
From this wild region of unvaried pain.
Yon landscape smile,-yon golden harvest grow,-
When Henry's name is heard no more below. I sigh when all my youthful friends caress,
They laugh in health, and future evils brave; Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,
While I am mouldering in my silent grave. God of the just-Thou gavest the bitter cup; I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.
In varying vest along the shadowy skies,
GENTLY, most gently, on thy victim's head, Anon, recalling Winter's stormy gale,
Consumption, lay thine handlet me decay, And pouring from the cloud her sudden hail;
Like the expiring lamp, unseen, away, Then, smiling thro' the tear that dims her eyes,
And softly go to slumber with the dead. While Iris with her braid the welkin dyes, And if 'tis true, what holy men have said, Promise of sunshine, not so prone to fail.
That strains angelic oft foretell the day So, to us, sojourners in Life's low vale,
Of death, to those good men who fall thy prey, The smiles of Fortune flatter to deceive,
O let the aerial music round my bed,
Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear
Ere I depart upon my journey drear:
Compose my decent head, and breathe my last.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH At evening rising slow, yet sweetly clear,
Steal on the musing poet's pensive ear,
And chant a dirge to his reposing shade! For he was wont to love your madrigals;
THY judgments, Lord, are just; thou lov'st to wear And often by the haunted stream that laves
The face of pity and of love divine; The dark sequester'd woodland's inmost caves
But mine is guilt-thou must not, canst not spare, Would sit and listen to the dying falls,
While Heaven is true, and equity is thine. Till the full tear would quiver in his eye, [tacy. Ves, oh my God!such crimes as mine, so dread, And his big heart would heave with mournful ecs
Leave but the choice of punishment to thee; Thy interest calls for judgment on my head,
And even thy mercy dares not plead for me!
Thy will be done-since 'tis thy glory's due,
Bid from mine eyes the endless torrents flow;
I bless the avenging hand that lays me low. 'TIS midnight-On the globe dead slumber sits, And all is silence-in the hour of sleep;
But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood, Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits,
That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning
blood ? In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep. I wake alone to listen and to weep,
To watch, my taper, thy pale beacon burn;
A FRIEND IN DISTRESS,
Who, when Henry reasoned with him calmly,asked,
“If he did not feel for him pa
“DO I not feel " The doubt is keen as steel TO MY MOTHER.
Yea, I do feel-most exquisitely feel;
I chase the tear, and stem the rising sigh:
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed And smile the most when heaviest is my heart Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
On this I act-whatever pangs surround, Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
'Tis magnanimity to hide the wound! Hooner the sun from his high sphere should sink When all was new, and life was in its spring,
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day, I lived an unloved solitary thing;
Even then I learn'd to bury deep from day,
our steps may roam, Even then I learn'd for others' cares to feel; O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree, Even then I wept I had not power to heal :
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee, And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
# The 13 Poems which follow are of a later date And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.
than the preceding.
Even then, deep-sounding thro' the nightly gloom,
Angels of Heaven, I heard the wretched's groan, and mourn'd the Ye who beheld Him fainting on the cross, wretched's doom,
(fire-. ! And did him homage, say, may mortal join Who were my friends in youth ?-The midnight The hallelujahs of the risen God? The silent moon-beam, or the starry choir;
Will the faint voice and grovelling song be heard To these I 'plained, or turn'd from outer sight, Amid the seraphim in light divine ? To bless my lonely taper's friendly light;
Yes, He will deign, the Prince of Peace will deign, I never yet could ask, howe'er forlorn,
For mercy, to accept the hymn of faith, For vulgar pity mix'd with vulgar scorn;
Low though it be and humble.-Lord of life, The sacred source of wo I never ope;
The Christ, the Comforter, thine advent now
and I weep for thee.
One ditty more, and on the mountain ash
The warm tear frequent on my cheek, since last,
Ateventide, when all the winds were hush'd, Thine
I woke to thee the melancholy song.
Since then with Thoughtfulness, a maid severe,
Of frolic fancy to the line of truth;
Not unrepining, for my froward heart,
My long-neglected Harp.-He must not sink;
The good, the brave-he must not, shall not sink
Though from the Muse's chalice I may pour 1804.
No precious dews of Aganippe's well,
I fetch no hues to scatter on his hearse :
Most eloquent, yet silent, I will bathe I ask of thee, for I, with hymnings high,
Thy honour'd corse, my Nelson, tears as warm Would join the dirge of the departing year.
And honest as the ebbing blood that flow'd Yet with no wintry garland from the woods,
Fast from thy honest heart.-Thou, Pity, too, Wrought of the leafless branch, or ivy sear,
If ever I have loved, with faltering step, Wreathe I thy tresses, dark December! now;
To follow thee in the cold and starless night, Me higher quarrel calls, with loudest song,
To the top crag of some rain-beaten cliff'; And fearful joy, to celebrate the day
And as I heard the deep gun bursting loud Of the Redeemer.-Near two thousand suns
Amid the pauses of the storm, have pour'd Have set their seals upon the rolling lapse
Wild strains, and mournful, to the hurrying winds, Of generations, since the day-spring first
The dying soul's viaticum; if oft Beam'd from on high !-Now to the mighty mass
Amid the carnage of the field I've sate Of that increasing aggregate we add
With thee upon the moonlight throne, and sung One unit more. Space, in comparison,
To cheer the fainting soldier's dying soul, How small, yet mark d with how much misery;
With mercy and forgiveness visitant Wars, famine, and the fury, Pestilence,
Of Heaven-sit thou
upon my harp, Over the nations hanging her dread scourge ;
And give it feeling, which were else too cold The oppressed, too, in silent bitterness,
For argument so great, for theme so high. Weeping their sufferance; and the arm of wrong,
How dimly on that morn the sun arose, Forcing the scanty portion from the weak,
'Kerchief'd in mists, and tearful, when And steeping the lone widow's couch with tears.
So has the year been character'd with wo
In Heaven we shall be purified, so as to be able to The broken-hearted, to raise up the sick,
endure the splendours of the Deity.
AWAKE, sweet harp of Judah, wake,
We sing the Saviour of our race,
When God's right arm is bared for war,
Where, where, oh where, shall man retire, They know not what they do."
To escape the horrors of his ire ?
While yet we sojourn here below, Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow; Fallen, abject, mean, a sentenced race, We deeply need a hiding-place.
VI. Yet courage-days and years will glide, And we shall lay these clods aside, Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood, And wash'd in Jesus' cleansing blood.
VII. Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed, We through the Lamb shall be decreed ; Shall meet the Father face to face, And need no more a hiding-place.
From every host, from every gem;
The storm was loud,the night was dark,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem
It bade my dark foreboulings cease;
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
The star !_The Star of Bethlehem.
FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.
O LORD, my God, in mercy turn,
And we, a lonely band,
To praises low as ours?
As we before thee pray:
And let contention cease;
A flock by Jesus led;
And thou wilt bless our way;
The dawn of lasting day.
O pleasures past, what are ye now
and with a blow
Inserted in a Collection of Selected and Original
Songs, published by the Rev. J. Plumptre, of Clare Hall, Cambridge.
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
I. WHEN marshall'd on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky; One star zone, of all the train,
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
I. YES, once more that dying strain,
Anna, touch thy lute for me; Sweet, when Pity's tones complain, Doubly sweet is melody.
Mildly soft the thrilling song,
III. Thus when life hath stolen away,
And the wintry night is near, Thus shall Virtue's friendly ray
Age's closing evening cheer.
* The last stanza of this hymn was added extemporaneously, by Henry, one summer evening, when he was with a few friends on the Trent, and singing it as he was used to do on such occasions.
VI. Then whence it is I cannot tell, But there is some mysterious spell
That holds me when I'm glad; And so the tear-drop fills my eye, When yet in truth I know not why,
Or wherefore I am sad.
A lady of Cambridge lent Waller's Poems to Henry,
and when he returned them to her, she discovered an additional Stanza written by him at the bottom of the Song here copied.
GO, lovely rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time on me,
That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung in deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Bid her come forth,
Then die, that she
May read in thee;
(Yet, though thou fade,
And teach the Maid
H. K. WHITE.
IT is not that my lot is low,
“I'M PLEASED, AND YET
IF far from me the Fates remove
One, two, three, four, and five,
And I am inly glad,
Does that disturb my breast?
Must bend my lonely way?
When thou no more canst hear?
Released from every fear.
FANNY! upon thy breast I may not lie!
Fanny ! thou dost not hear me when I speak! Where art thou, love ?-dround I turn my eye,
And as I turn, the tear is on my cheek. Was it a dream or did my love hehold
Indeed my lonely couch-Methought the breath Fann'd not her bloodless lip; her eye was cold
And hollow, and the livery of death Invested her pale forehead.-Sainted maid
My thoughts oft rest with thee in thy cold grave, Through the long wintry night, when wind and
wave, Rock the dark house where thy poor head is laid. Yet, hush ! my fond heart, hush! there is a shore Of better promise; and I know at last,
When the long sabbath of the tomb is past, We two shall meet in Christ-to part no more,