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The slow team creeks upon the road,

Whatever my faults, I may venture to say, The noisy whip resounds,

Hypocrisy never will come in your way. The driver's voice, his carol blithe,

I am upright, I hope; I am downright, I m clear! The mower's stroke, his whetting sithe,

And I think my worst foe must allow I'm sincere; Mix with the morning's sounds.

And if ever sincerity glow'd in my breast;

'Tis now when I swearWho would not rather take his seat

Beneath these clumps of trees, The early dawn of day to greet,

And catch the healthy breeze,
Than on the silken couch of Sloth

Luxurious to lie ?
Who would not from life's dreary waste,

Snatch, when he could, with eager haste,
An interval of joy ?

1. To him who simply thus recounts

COME, Disappointment, come! The morning's pleasures o'er,

Not in thy terrors clad; Fate dooms, ere long, the scene must close

Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; To ope on him no more.

Thy chastening rod but terrifies Yet, Morning! unrepining still

The restless and the bad. Hell greet thy beams awhile;

But I recline and surely thou, when o'er his grave

Beneath thy shrine,

(twine. Solemn the whispering willows wave,

And round ray brow resign'd, thy peaceful cypress Wilt sweetly on him smile;

And the pale glow-worm's pensive light
Will guide his ghostly walks in the drear moonless Though Fancy flies away,

Before thy hollow tread,
Yet Meditation, in her celí,
Hears with faint eye, the lingering knell,

That tells her hopes are dead;

And though the tear

By chance appear,


Yet she can smile, and say, My all was not laid Addressed (during Illness) to a Lady.


Cume, Disappointment, come! DEAR Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf,

Though from Hope's summit hurlid, To give you a sketch-ay, a sketch of myself.

Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven, Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly confess,

For thou severe were sent from heaven, And one it would puzzle a painter to dress;

To wean me from the world : Bet however, here goes, and as sure as a gun,

To turn my eye 1'1 tell all my faults like a penitent nun;

From vanity, For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. She wont be a cynical father confessor.

4. Come, come, 'twill not do! pat that purling brun What is this passing scene ? down;

A peevish April day! You can't, for the soul of you, learn how to frown. A little sun-a little rain, Well, first I premise, it's my honest conviction,

And then night sweeps along the plain, That my breast is a chaos of all contradiction;

And all things fade away. ReligiousDeistic-now loyal and warm;

Man (soon discuss'd) Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform:

Yields up his trust, This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus; And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust, Dernocritus now, and anon Heraclitus;

5. Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle; Then Tex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle;

Oh, what is Beauty's power ? Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay,

It flourishes and dies; To all points of the compass I veer in a day.

Will the cold earth its silence break,

To tell how soft how smooth a cheek I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child,

Beneath its surface lies? But to Poverty's offspring submissive and mild :

Mute, mute is all As rude as a boor, and as rough in dispute ;

O'er Beauty's fall;

(pall. Then as for politeness-oh! dear-I'm a brute ! Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her I show no respect where I never can feel it;

6. And as for contempt, take no pains to conceal it, And so in the suite, by these laudable ends,

The most beloved on earth I've a great many foes, and a very few friends.

Not long survives to-day;

So music past is obsolete, And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, That this proud heart of mine is not fashion'd like

But now 'tis gone away. steel.

Thus does the shade It can love (can it not ?)—it can hate, I am sure;

In memory fade, And it's friendly enough, tho' in friends it be poor.

When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid. Por itself though it bleed not, for others it bleeds

7. If it have not ripe virtues, I'm sure it's the seeds And though far from faultless, or even so-so,

Then since this world is vain, I think it may pass as our worldly things go.

And volatile, and fleet,

Why should I lay up earthly joys, Well, I've told you my frailtics without any gloss; Where dust corrupts, and moth destroye, Then as to my virtues, I'm quite at a loss!

And cares and sorrows eat? I think I'm devout, and yet I can't say,

Why fly from ill But in process of time I inay get the wrong way.

With anxious skill, I'm a general lover, if that's commendation,

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing And yet can't withstand, you kru whose


heart be still? But I find that amidst all my tricks and devices,

8. In fishing for virtues, I'm pulling up vices; So as for the good, why, if I possess it,

Come, Disappointment, come! I am not yet learned enough to express it.

Thou art not stern to me;

Sad Monitress! I own thy sway, You yourself must examine the lovelier side,

A votary sad in early day, And after your every art you have tried,

I bend my knee to thee.

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From sun to sun

Here stay his steps, and call his children round,
My race will run,

And slowly spell the rudely sculptured rhymes,
I only bow, and say, My God, thy will be done! And, in his rustic manner, moralize.

I've mark'd with what a silent awe he'd spoken, On another paper are a few lines, written prob. With head uncover'd, his respectful manner. ably in the freshness of his disappointment.

And all the honours which he paid the grave,

And thought on cities, where even cemeteries, I DREAM no more-the vision flies away,

Eestrew'd with all the emblems of mortality, And Disappointment

Are not protected from the drunken insolence There fell my hopes-I lost my all in this,

Of wassailers profane, and wanton havoc. My cherish'd all ot visionary bliss.

Grant, Heaven, that here my pilgrimage may close Now hope farewell, farewell all joys below;

Yet, if this be denied, where'er my bones Now welcome sorrow, and now welcome wo. May lie-or in the city's crowded bounds, Plunge me in glooms

Or scatter'd wide o'er the huge sweep of waters

Or left a prey on some deserted shore His health soon sunk under these habits; he be- To the rapacious cormorant,- yet still, came pale and thin, and at length had a sharp fit (For why should sober reason cast away of sickness. On his recovery wrote the following A thought ich soot the

?)—yet still m lines in the church-yard of his favourite village.

Shall wing its way to these my native regions,
And hover o'er this spot. Oh, then I'll think
Of times when I was seated 'neath this yew

In solemn rumination; and will smile

With joy that I have got my long'd release.

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On Recovery from Sickness.




HERE would I wish to sleep.-This is the spot
Which I have long mark'd out to lay my bones in;
Tired out and wearied with the riotous world,
Beneath this Yew I would be sepulchred.
It is a lovely spot! The sultry sun,
From his meridian height, endeavours vainly
To pierce the shadowy foliage, while the zephyr
Comes wafting gently o'er the rippling Trent,
And plays about my wan cheek. "Tis a nook
Most pleasant. Such a one perchance, did Gray
Frequent, as with a vagrant inuse he wanton'd.

Come, I will sit me down and meditate,
For I am wearied with my suminer's walk;
And here I may repose in silent ease;
And thus, perchance, when life's sad journey's o'er,
My harass'a soul, in this same spot, may find
The haven of its rest-beneath this sod
Perchance may sleep it sweetly, sound as death.

I would not have my corpse cemented down With brick and stone, defrauding the poor earth

Of its predestined dues ; no, I would lie
Beneath a little hillock, grass-o'ergrown,
Swathed down with oziers, just as sleep the cottiers
Yet may not undistinguished be my grave;
But there at eve may some congenial soul
Duly resort, and shed a pious tear,
The good man's benison-no I ast
And, oh! (if heavenly beings may look down
From where, with cherubiin, inspired they sit,
Upon this little dim-discover'd spot,
The earth,) then will I cast a glance below,
On him who thus my ashes shall embalm ;
And I will weep too, and will bless the wanderer,
Wishing he may not long be doom'd to pine
In this low-thoughted world of darkling wo,
But that, ere long, he reach his kindred skies.

Yet 'twas a silly thought, as if the body,
Mouldering beneath the surface of the earth,
Could taste the sweets of summer scenery,
And feel the freshness of the balmy breeze!
Yet nature speaks within the human bosom,
And, spite of reason, bids it look beyond
His narrow verge of being, and provide
A decent residence for its clayey shell,
Endear'd to it by time. And who would lay
His body in the city burial-place,
To be thrown up again by some rude Sexton,
And yield its narrow house another tenant,
Ere the moist flesh had mingled with the dust,
Ere the tenacious hair had left the scalp,
Exposed to insult lewd, and wantonness?
No, I will lay me in the village ground;
There are the dead respected. The poor hind,
Unlettered as he is, would scorn to invade
The silent resting place of death. I've seen
The labourer, returning from his toil,

1. ISING the Cross :-Ye white-robed angel choirs,

Who know the chords of harmony to sweep,
Ye who o'er holy David's varying wires
Were wont, of old, your hovering watch to

[deep, Oh, now descend! and with your harpings Pouring sublime the full symphonious stream

Of music, such as soothes the saint's last sleep, Awake my slumbering spirit from its dream, And teach me how to exalt the high mysterious


II. Mourn! Salem, mourn! low lies thine humbled state,

ground! Thy glittering fanes are levell'd with the Fallen is thy pride - Thine halls are desolate! Where erst was heard the timbrel's sprightly

sound, And frolic pleasures tripp'd the nightly round, There breeds the wild fox lonely,-and aghast

Stands the mute pilgrim at the void profound, Unbroke by noise, save when the hurrying blast Sighs, like a spirit, deep along the cheerless waste.

It is for this, proud Solyma! thy towers

Lie crumbling in the dust; for this forlom
Thy genius wails along thy desert bowers,

While stern Destruction laughs, as if in scorn,

That thou didst dare insult God's eldest born; And, with most bitter persecuting ire,

Pursued his footsteps till the last day-dawn Rose on his fortunes and thou saw'st the fire That came to light the world, in one great flash


Oh ! for a pencil dipp'd in living light,

To paini the agonies that Jesus bore!
Oh! for the long-lost harp of Jesse's might,
To hymn the Saviour's praise from shore to

shore; While seraph hosts the lofty pæan pour, And Heaven enraptured lists the loud acclaim!

May a frail mortal dare the theme explore? May he to buman ears his weak song frame? Oh! may he dare to sing Messiah's glorious

name? <


Hpirits of pity! mild Crusaders, come!


High on a solium of the solid wave, Buoyant on clouds around your minstrel Prank'd with rude shapes by the fantastic frost, And give him eloquence who else were dumb, He stood in silence ;-now keen thoughts engrave And raise to feeling and to fire his note!

Dark figures on his front; and, tempest-toss'd And thou, Urania! who dost still devote

He fears to say that every hope is lost. Thy nights and days to God's eternal shrine,

Meanwhile the multitude as death are mute: Whose mild eyes "lumined what Isaiah So, ere the tempest on Malacca's coast, wrote,

Sweet Quiet, gently touching her soft lute, (pute. Throw o'er thy Bard that solemn stole of thine, Sings to the whispering waves the prelude to dis and clothe him for the fight with energy divine.


At length collected, o'er the dark Divan
When from the temple's lofty summit prone,

The arch-tiend glanced, as by the Boreal blaze Satan o'ercome, fell down and 'throned

Their downcast brows were seen, and thus began there,

His fierce harangue:-“Spirits ! our better days The Son of God confess'd, in splendour shone;

Are now elapsed; Moloch and Belial's praise

Shall sound no more in groves by myriads trod. Swift as the glancing sunbeam cuts the air, Mad with defeat, and yelling his despair,

Lo! the light breaks The astonish'd nations For us is lifted high the avenging rod! (gaze!

For, spirits, this is He, this is the Son of God! Fled the stern king of Hell-and with the

XIV. glare Of gliding meteors, ominous and red,

" What then shall Satan's spirit crouch to fear? Shot athwart the clouds that gather'd round his

Shall he who shook the pillars of God's reign head.

Drop from his unnerved arm the hostile spear?

Madness! The very thought would make me VII.

To tear the spanglets from yon gaudy plain, Right o'er the Euxine, and that gulf which late

And hurl them at their Maker !_Fix'd as fate The rude Massagetæ adored, he bent

I am his Foe!-Yea, though his pride should His northering course, while round, in dusky state, (augment;

deign The assembling fiends their summond troops

To soothe mine ire with half his regal state, Clothed in dark mists, upon their way they

Still would I burn with fix'd, unalterable hate went,

XV. While, as they pass'd to regions more severe,

« Now hear the issue of my cursed emprize, The Lapland sorcerer swell'd with loud lament The solitary gale, and, fill'd with fear,

When from our last sad synod I took flight, The howling dogs bespoke unholy spirits near.

Buoy'd with false hopes, in some deep-laid due

guise, VIII.

To tempt

this vaunted Holy One to write Where the North Pole, in moody solitude

His own self-condemnation ; in the plight Spreads her huge tracks and frozen wastes Of aged man in the lone wilderness, around,

Gathering a few stray sticks, I met his sight, There ice-rocks piled aloft, in order rude,

And, leaning on my staff, seem'd much to Form a gigantic hall, where never sound


cess. Startled dull Silence ear, save when profound What cause could mortal bring to that forlorn reThe smoke-frost mutter'd: there drear Cold for


[mound, Thrones him,--and, fix'd on his primæval

“ Then thus in homely guise I featly framed Ruin, the giant, sits; while stern Dismay way. My lowly speech :- Good Sir, what leads this Stalks like some wo-struck man along the desert


(blamed Your wandering steps ? must hapless chance be IX.

That you so far from haunt of mortals stray ?

Here have I dwelt for many a lingering day, In that drear spot, grim Desolation's lair, No sweet remain of life encheers the sight;

Nor trace of man have seen; but how ! me. The dancing heart's blood in an instant there

thought Would freeze to marble.--Mingling day and

Thou wert the youth on whom God's holy ray night


I saw descend in Jordan, when John taught (Sweet interchange, which makes our labours That he to fallen man the saving promise brought. Are there unknown; while in the summer skies

XVIL The sun rolls ceaseless round his heavenly hht,

«'I am that man,' said Jesus, I am He, Vor ever sets la from the scene he flies,

But truce to questions-Canst thou point my And leaves the long bleak night of half the year to To some low hut, if haply such there be

[feet rise.

In this wild labyrinth, where I may meet

With homely greeting, and may sit and eat; X.

For forty days ( have tarried fasting here, Twas there, yet shuddering from the burning Hid in the dark glens of this lone retreat, lake,

And now I hunger; and my fainting ear
Satan had fix'd their next consistory,

Longs much to greet the sound of fountains gushing When parting last he fondly hoped to shake

Messiah's constancy,--and thus to free

The powers of darkness from the dread decree
Ofbondage brought by him, and circumvent “ Then thus I answer'd wily:- If, indeed,

The unerring ways of Him whose eye can see Son of our God thou be'st, what need to seek The womb of Time, and, in its embryo pent,

For food from men -Lo! on these flint stones Discern the colours clear of every dark event.


Bid them be bread! Open thy lips and speak, XI.

And living rills from yon parch'd rock will Here the stern monarch stay'd his rapid flight, Instant as I had spoke, his piercing eye (break. And his thick hosts, as with a jetty pall,

Fix'd on my face;-the blood forsook my cheek, Hovering obscured the north star's peaceful light, I could not bear his gaze ;--my mask slipp'd by;

Waiting on wing their haughty chieftain's call. I would have shunn'd his look, but had not power He, meanwhile, downward, with a sullen fall,

to fly. Dropp'd on the echoing ice. Instant the sound

XIX of their broad vans was hush'd, and o'er the hall,

“ Then he rebuked me with the holy wordVast and obscure, the gloomy cohorts bound,

Accursed sounds! but now my native pride Till wedged in ranks, the seat of Satan they sur- Return'd, and by no foolish qualm deterr'd, round

I bore him from the mountain's woody side,



Up to the summit, where extending wide

High on the shrouds the spirit that com


The ocean-farer's life; so stiff-so sear Kingdoms and cities, palaces and fanes, Bright sparkling in the sunbeams, were des- Stood each dark power ;-while through their cried,

numerous bands And in gay dance, amid luxuriant plains,

Beat not one heart, and mingling hope and fear Tripp'd to the jocund reed the emasculated swains. Now told them all was lost, now bade revenge ap

pear. XX.

XXVII. “Behold,' I cried, these glories ! scenes divine ! Thou whose sad prime in pining want decays;

One there was there, whose loud defying tongue And these, o rapture! these shall all be thine, Nor hope nor fear had silenced, but the swell If thou wilt give to me, not God, the praise.

Of over-boiling malice. Utterance long. Hath he not given to indigence thy days?

His passion mock'd, and long he strove to tell Is not thy portion peril here and pain ?

His labouring ire ; still syllable none fell Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding

From his pale quivering lip, but died away ways !

For very fury; from each hollow cell Seize the tiara! these mean weeds disdain, Half sprang his eyes, that cast a flamy ray, Kneel, kneel, thou man of wo, and peace and splen.

dour gain.'


“This comes," at length burst from the rurious *Is it not written,' sternly he replied,

chief, *Tempt not the Lord thy God! Frowning he

"This comes of distant counsels! Here behold spake,

The fruits of wily cunning! the relief And instant sounds, as of the ocean tide,

Which coward policy would fain unfold, Rose, and the whirlwind from its prison brake,

To soothe the powers that warr'd with Heaven And caught me up aloft, till in one flake,

O wise! O potent ! O sagacious snare ! (of old ! The sidelong volley met my swift career,

And lo! our prince-the mighty and the bold, And smote me earthward.—Jove himself

There stands he, speli-struck, gaping at the air, might quake

While Heaven subverts his reign, and plants her At such a fall; my sinews crack'd, and near,

standard there." Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine


Here, as recovered, Satan fix'd his eye

Full on the speaker; dark it was and stern; "Senseless and stunn'd I lay ; till, casting round He wrapp'd his black vest round him gloomily, My half unconscious gaze, I saw the foe

And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts Borne on a car of roses to the ground,

concern. By volant angels; and as sailing slow

Him Moloch mark'd, and strove again to turn He sunk, the hoary battlement below,

His soul to rage. “Behold, behold," he cried, While on the tall spire slept the slant sunbeam,

* The lord of Hell, whó bade these legions Sweet on the enamour'd zephyr was the flow

spurn Of heavenly instruments. Such strains oft seem,

Almighty rule-behold he lays aside (defied.” On star-light hill, to soothe the Syrian shepherd's The spear of just revenge, and shrinks by man dream.


Thus ended Moloch, and his burning tongue “I saw blaspheming. Hate renew'd my strength;

Hung quivering, as if (mad) to quench its heat I smote the ether with my iron wing,

In slaughter. So, his native wilds among, And left the accurseu scene.-Arrived at length

The famish'd tiger pants, when, near his seat, In these drear halls, to ye, my peers! I

Press'd on the sands, he marks the traveller's bring

feet. The tidings of defeat. Hell's haughty king,

Instant low murmurs rose, and many a sword Thrice vanquish'd, baffled, smitten, and dis- Had from its scabbard sprung; but toward the may'd!

Of the arch-fiend all turn'd with one accord, (seat O shame! Is this the hero who could fling

As loud he thus harangued the sanguinary horde. Defiance at his Maker, while array'd, High o'er the walls of light rebellion's banners play'd!

“ Ye powers of Hell, I am no coward. I proved

this of oid: who led your forces against the armies XXIV.

of Jehovah? Who coped with Ithuriel and the “Yet shall not Heaven's bland minions triumph

thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned long;

and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first Hell yet shall have revenge.- glorious sight, awoke, and collected your scattered powers LastProphetic visions on my fancy throng,

ly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to I see wild Agony's lean finger write

this delightful world, and established that reign Sad figures on his forehead-Keenly bright

here which now totters to its base? How, therefore, Revenge's flambeau burns! Now in his eyes

dares yon treacherous tend to cast a stain on Satan's Stand the hot tears,-immantled in the night, bravery ? he who preys only on the defencelessLo! he retires to mourn !-I hear his cries! who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in He faintshe falls—and lo!-'tis true, ye powers,

acts of ignoble cruelly and unequal contention. he dies."

Away with the boaster who never joins in action,

but, like a cormorant, hovers over the tield, to feed XXV.

upon the wounded, and overwhelm the dying. Thus spake the chieftain,-and as if he view'd True bravery is as remote from rashness as from

The scene he pictured, with his foot advanced hesitation ; let us counsel coolly, but let us execute And chest inflated, motionless he stood,

our counselled purposes determinately. In power While under his uplifted shield he glanced,

we have learned, by that experiment which lost us With straining eye-ball fix'd, like one en- Heaven, that we are inferior to the Thunder-bear. tranced,

er :-In subtlety-in subtlety alone we are his equalse On viewless air;-thither the dark platoon Open war is impossible. Gazed wondering, nothing seen, save when

there danced The northern flash, or fiend late fled from noon,

“ Thus we shall pierce our Conqueror, through Darkend the disk of the descending moon.

the race

Which as himself he loves; tous ' we fall, XXVI.

We fall not with the anguish, the disgrace silence crept stilly through the ranks.-The

Of falling unrevenged The stirring call breeze

Of vengeance wrings within me! Warriors all, Spake most distinctly. As the sailor stands,

The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. When all the midnight gasping from the seas

Away with coward wiles -Death's coal-black Brvak boding sobs, and to his sight expands


Be now our standard !-Be our torch the glare Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem
Of cities fired! our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air !" The lyre which I in early days have strung;

And now my spirits faint, and I have hung Him answering rose Mecashpim, who of old, The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour, Far in the silence of Chaldea's groves,

On the dark cypress! and the strings which Was worshipp'd, God of Fire, with charms untold

rung And mystery. His wandering spirit roves. With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o er,

Now vainly searching for the flame it loves, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard And sits and mourns like some white-robed sire,

no mere.
Where stood his temple, and where fragrant
And cinnamon upheap'd we sacred pyre, (cloves And must the harp of Judah sleep again ?
And nightly magi watch'd the everlasting fire.

Shall I no more re-animate the lay?

Oh! thou who visitest the sons of men, He waved his robe of flame, he cross'd his breast, Thou who dost listen when the humble pray, And sighing-his papyrus scarf survey'd,

One little space prolong my mournful day!
Woven with dark characters; then thus address'd One little lapse suspend thy last decree !
The troubled council.

I am a youthful traveller in the way,
And this slight boon would consecrate to thee,

Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I 1.

am free. THUS far have I pursued my solemn theme

With self-rewarding toil, thus far have sung




UNHAPPY White! while life was in its spring,
And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing,
The spoiler came; and all thy promise fair
Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there.
Oh! what a noble heart was here undone,
When science self destroy'd her favourite son!
Yes! she too much indulg'd thy fond pursuit,
She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit.
"Twas thine own genius gave the final blow,
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low.
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel,
He nursed the pinion which impellid the steel ;
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest,
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.

By neither chance nor envy, time nor flame,
Be it from this its mansion dispossess'd!

But thee, Eternity, clasps to her breast,
And in celestial splendour thrones thy claim.

No more with mortal pencil shalt thou trace

An imitative radiance :* thy pure lyre
Springs from our changeful atmosphere's embrace,

And beams and breathes in empyreal fire :
The Homeric and Miltonian sacred tone
Responsive hail that lyre congenial to their own.
Bury, 11th Jan. 1807.

C. L.




IF worth, if genius, to the world are dear,

To Henry's shade devote no common tear.

His worth on no precarious tenure hung, THE HOMER OF MR. H. K, WHITE, If pure benevolence, if steady sense,

From genuine piety his virtues sprung:

Can to the feeling heart delight dispense; Presented to me by his Brother, J. Neville White. If all the highest

efforts of the mind,

Exalted, noble, elegant, refined,

Call for fond sympathy's heart-felt regret,

Ye sons of genius, pay the mournful debt: BARD of brief days, but ah, of deathless fame! His friends can truly speak how large his claim,

While on these awful leaves my fond eyes rest, And "Life was only wanting to his fame.".

On which thine late have dwelt, thy hand late Art Thou, indeed, dear youth, for ever fled ? I pause; and gaze regretful on thy name. (press'd, So quickly number'd with the silent dead.

Too sure I read it in the downcast eye,

Hear it in mourning friendship's stifled sigh. • Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in Ah! could esteem, or admiration, save October, 1806, in consequence of too much exer. So dear an object from th' untimely grave, tion in the pursuit of studies that would have ma- This transcript faint had not essay'd to telí, tured a mind which disease and poverty could not The loss of one beloved, revered so well. impair, and which death itself destroyed rather Vainly I try, even eloquence were weak, than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties The silent sorrow that I feel, to speak. as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents, which would have dignified even the sacred functions he • Alluding to his pencilled sketch of a head was destined to assume.

surrounded with a giory.

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