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Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth,
The gift of riches, and the pride of power

And call’d, proud boast I the British drama forth. Een now a name illustrious is thine own,

Another view, not less renown'd for wit; Renown'd in rank, nor far beneath the throne. Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul

Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; To shun fair science, or evade control,

In every splendid part ordain'd to shine : Though passive tutors, fearful to dispraise

Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The titled child, whose future breath may raise. The pride of princes, and the boast of song. View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,

Such were thy fathers; thus preserve their name ; And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.

Not heir to titles only, but to fame.

The lour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, When youthful parasites, who bend the knee To me, this little scene of joys and woes ; To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee

Each knell of Time now warns me to resign And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn

Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn

mine : When these declare, that pomp alone should wait Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, On one by birth predestined to be great;

And gild their pinions as the moments Alew;
That books were only meant for drudging fools,

Peace, that reflection never frownd away,
That gallant spirits scorn the common rules ;' By dreams of ill to cloud some future day :
Believe them not ;-they point the path to shame, Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell;
And seek to blast the honours of thy name.

Alas ! they love not long, who love so well.
Turn to the few in Ida's early throng,

To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ;

Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore,
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth,

Receding slowly through the dark blue deep,
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.
Ask thine own heart ; 'twill bid thee, boy, for. Dorset, farewell ! I will not ask one part
bear;

Of sad remembrance in so young a heart;
For well I know that virtue lingers there.

The coming morrow from thy youthful mind

Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind.
Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year,
But now new scenes invite me far away ;

Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,
Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind Since the same senate, nay, the same debate,
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind.

May one day claim our suffrage for the state,
Ah! though myself by nature haughty, wild, We hence inay meet, and pass each other by,
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child : With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
Though every error stamps me for her own,
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ;

For me, in future, neither friend nor foe,
Though my proud heart no precept now can tame,

A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, I love the virtues which I cannot clair,

With thee no more again I hope to trace

The recollection of our early race; 'Tis not enough, with other sons of power,

No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour ;

Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice: To swell some peerage page in feeble pride,

Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught With long-drawn names that grace no page beside;

To veil those feelings which perchance it ought, Then share with titled crowds the common lot

If these-but let mc cease the lengthen d strain In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot :

Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead,

The guardian seraph who directs thy fate Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head,

Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll, That well-emblazon d but neglected scroll, Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find One spot, to leave a worthless name behind.

FRAGMENT.
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults
That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF
A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread,

MISS CHAWORTH.
In records destined never to be read.
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes,

HILLS of Annesley ! bleak and barren,
Exalted more among the good and wise,

Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd, A glorious and a long career pursue,

How the northern tempests, warring,
As first in rank, the first in talent too:

Howl above thy tufted shade!
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun;
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.

Now no more, the hours beguiling,

Former favourite haunts I see ; Turn to the annals of a former day;

Now no more my Mary smiling Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display.

Makes ye seem a heaven to me.

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Who reads false quantities in Seale,t

Oh! had they sung in notes like these,
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle ;

Inspired by stratagem or fear,
Deprived of many a wholesome meal;

They might have set their hearts at ease,
In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle:

The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.

But if I scribble longer now, * The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus,

The deuce á soul will stay to read: the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situa- My pen is blunt, my ink is low; tion, and unroofs the houses for inspection.

'Tis almost time to stop, indee Seale's publication on Greek Metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy:

• The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the ather and is not very intelligible.

two sides of a right-angled triangle,

Therefore, farewe!l, old Granta's spires : I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elade
No more, like Cleofas, I fly:

me, No more thy theme my muse inspires:

*Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew ! The reader's tired, and so am I.

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TO M
OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,

With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,

Love, more than mortal, would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair;

That fatal glance forbids esteem. When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,

So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own: Therefore, to guard her dearest work,

Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk

Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,

When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there,

Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance

Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied, How welcome to me your ne'er-fading reinem

brance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is de.

nied !

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear : E'en suns, which systems now control,

Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.

TO WOMAN.

Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swar, and the fields where

we fought ; The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we re.

sorted, To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,

As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay : Or round the steep brow of the churchyard 1

wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. I once more view the room, with spectators sur

rounded, Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses re

sounded I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.* Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,

By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived ; Till fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,

I regarded myself as a Garrick revived. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!

Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:

Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest. To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,

While fate shall the shades of the future unroll! Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,

More dear is the beam of the past to my soul. But if, through the course of the years which await me,

Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,

WOMAN I experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are naught;
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
O Memory! thou choicest blessing
When joined with hope, when still possessing ;
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is filed, and passion's over!
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth !

.* Mossop, a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga,

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Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When lo ! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
Woinan! thy vows are traced in sand."*

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

TO M. S. G.

Through hours, through years, through time 'twül

cheer; My hope in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear,

And meet my fond expiring gaze.

WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely for

give : Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live

I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

TO LESBIA.

Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast,

Shed o'er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,

What rapture celestial is mine!

LESBIA! since far from you I've rangei,

Our souls with fond affection glow not ; You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,

I'd tell you why-but yet I know not.

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,

Mortality's emblem is given: To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

If this be a foretaste of heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,

Nor deem me too happy in this;
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.
Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may

smile, Oh! think not iny penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,

To awake will be torture sufficient.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;

And, Lesbia! we are not much older Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering pass'd away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage,

At least I feel disposed to stray, love! 'Tis I that am alone to blame,

I that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same,

Caprice must be my only reason. I do not, love ! suspect your truth,

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not ; Warın was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. No, no, my flame was not pretended;

For, oh! I loved you most sincerely ; And-though our dream at last is ended

My bosom still esteems you dearly. No more we meet in yonder bowers;

Absence has made ine prone to roving! But older, firmer hearts than ours

Have found monotony in loving. Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,

New beauties still are daily brightning ; Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning. Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed;

Fonder, alas ! they ne'er can be, love!

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,

Though strong as mortal art could give, My constant heart of fear disaris,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold,

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould,

The lips which made me beauty's slavc.

Here I can trace--ah, no! that eye,

Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid hinn from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying, Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY,

Sweet copy ! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living fornis could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

WHO HAD BEEN ALARMED BY A BULLET FIRED

BY THE AUTHOR WHILE DISCHARGING HIS PISTOLS IN A GARDEN.

DOUBTLESS, sweet girl! the hissing lead,

Wafting destruction o'er thy charms, And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,

Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms,

* This line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish preverb.

Surely some envious demon's force,

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear stea its way Vex'd to behold such beauty here,

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosoin in huc Impellid the bullet's viewless course,

Yet why do I ask?-to distraction a prey, Diverted from its first career.

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu ! Yes ! in that nearly fatal hour

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind! The ball obey'd some hell-born guide ;

From cities to caves of the forest he few : But Heaven, with interposing power,

There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind; In pity turn'd the death aside.

The mountains reverberate love's last adicu !

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Yet, as perchance one trembling tear

Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew, Upon that thrilling bosom fell; Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,

Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins; Extracted from its glistening cell:

He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel! Say, what dire penance can atone

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are sew, For such an outrage done to thee?

Who laughs at the pang which he never can feel, Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,

Ard dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu ! What punishment wilt thou decree? Might I perform the judge's part,

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast; The sentence I should scarce deplore;

No more with love's former devotion we sue : It only would restore a heart

He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast; Which but belong'd to thee before.

The shroud of affection is love's last adieu !

In this life of probation for rapture divine, The least atonement I can make

Astrea declares that some penance is due ; Is to become no longer free ;

From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrinc, Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,

The atonement is ample in love's last adieu ! Thou shalt be all in all to me.

Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew; Such expiation of my guilt:

His myrtle, an emblem of prirest delight; Come, then, some other mode elect;

His cypress the garland of love's last adieu ! Let it be death, or what thou wilt.

Choose then, relentless! and I swear
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;

DAMÆTAS.
Yet hold-one little word forbear!

IN law an infant, and in years a boy,
Let it be aught but banishment.

In mind a slave to every vicious joy ;
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.

Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
'Αει, δ' αει με φευγει.-ANACREON. Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool ;

Old in the world, thougli scarcely broke from school; THE roses of love glad the garden of life,

Damætas ran through all the inaze of sin, Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent And found the goal when others just begin ; dew,

Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,

And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu.

But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart,

And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu !

TO MARION.

MARION! why that pensive brow? Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen

What disgust to life hast thou? breast,

Change that discontented air ; Will whisper, 'Our meeting we yet may renew :'

Frowns become not one so fair, With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt,

'Tis not love disturbs thy rest, Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu!

Love's a stranger to thy breast; Oh! mark you yon pair : in the sunshine of youth

He in dimpling smiles appears, Love twined round their childhood his flowers as

Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, they grew; They flourish awhile in the season of truth,

* In law, every person is an infant who has not ai. Ti') chill'd by the winter of love's last adiey! tained the age of twenty-one,

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