The wife of my bosom is lost;
Long, long, has she sunk into sleep:
My boy on the ocean was toss'd,
He rests in the caves of the deep.
A villain my daughter betray'd;
Her home and her father she fled :
But HEAV'N has in justice repaid
The tears he has caus'd me to shed:
Her peace and her honour he stole ;
Abandon'd, despairing, she died:
Remorse quickly seiz'd on his soul,
And he rests in the grave by her side.
Oh! where are the friends of my youth,
The lovely, the good, and the brave?
All flown to the mansions of TRUTH!
All pass'd through the gates of the grave!
On parents, and children, and friends,
Have mortality's arrows been driv'n;
But swiftly the darkness descends,
And my spirit shall join them in HEAV'N !
ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES PEMBROKE, Esq.
HERE yon green tombs their heads promiscuous. raise,
With tearful eyes let FRIENDSHIP mark the spot
Where PEMBROKE slumbers. Upright and sincere,
For public worth esteem'd, for private lov'd,
Approving VIRTUE smil'd upon his life,
And soft-eyed sorrow consecrates his urn.
Above that spot where rests his honour'd dust,
The sportive child may spend his idle hours,
Unthinking that the silent form below
Was once like him, like him was wont to play,
ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES PEMBROKE, ESQ.
Unknown to care. Thrice happy innocent!
Thou too shalt fall, and on thy humble grave
Another child, unthinking as thyself,
Light as the lark, and rosy as the morn,
Shall frolic in his turn. Thus 'tis with man:
Like Autumn's leaves the present race decays,
Another race succeeds. But after death
Shall VIRTUE live, and live to die no more,
In better climes, from mortal eyes retir'd.
There, PEMBROKE, there thy sainted spirit dwells,
In everlasting rest; there, far remov'd
From all the troubles of the world, enjoys
The sure reward of goodness here below,
Eternal, boundless happiness above.
HE day has pass'd in storms, though not unmix'd
With transitory calm. The western clouds,
Dissolving slow, unveil the glorious sun,
Majestic in decline. The wat❜ry east
Glows with the many-tinted arch of HEAV'N.
We hail it as a pledge that brighter skies
Shall bless the coming morn. Thus rolls the day,
The short dark day of life; with tempests thus,
And fleeting sunshine chequer'd. At its close,
When the dread hour draws near, that bursts all ties,
All commerce with the world, RELIGION pours
HOPE'S fairy-colours on the virtuous mind,
And, like the rainbow on the ev'ning clouds,
Gives the bright promise that a happier dawn
Shall chase the night and silence of the grave.
HE marble tomb, in sculptur'd state display'd, Decks the vile earth where wealthy vice is laid; But no vain pomp its hollow splendour throws, Where Beauty, Virtue, Innocence, repose. The cypress tow'rs, the waving willows weep, Where ELLEN sleeps the everlasting sleep, Where with a sigh the passing stranger sees The long rank grave-grass bending in the breeze.
Oui, pour jamais
Chassons l'image
De la volage
Que j'adorais.-PARNY.
ATILDA, farewell! FATE has doom'd us to part, But the prospect occasions no pang to my heart;. No longer is love with my reason at strife, Though once thou wert dearer, far dearer than life.
As together we roam'd, I the passion confess'd,
Which thy beauty and virtue had rais'd in my breast;
That the passion was mutual thou mad'st me believe,
And I thought my MATILDA could never deceive.
My MATILDA! no, false one! my claims I resign:
Thou canst not, thou must not, thou shalt not be mine:
I now scorn thee as much as I lov'd thee before,
Nor sigh when I think I shall meet thee no more.
Though fair be thy form, thou no lovers wilt find,
While folly and falsehood inhabit thy mind,
Though coxcombs may flatter, though idiots may prize,
Thou art shunn'd by the good, and contemn'd by the wise.
Than mine what affection more fervent could be,
When I thought ev'ry virtue was centred in thee?
Of the vows thou hast broken I will not complain,
For I mourn not the loss of a heart I disdain.
Oh! hadst thou but constant and amiable prov'd
As that fancied perfection I formerly lov'd,
Nor absence, nor time, though supreme their control,
Could have dimm'd the dear image then stamp'd on my soul.
How bright were the pictures, untinted with shade,
By HOPE's glowing pencil on FANCY pourtray'd!
Sweet visions of bliss! which I could not retain ;
For they like thyself, were deceitful and vain.
Some other, perhaps, to MATILDA is dear,
Some other, more pleasing, though not more sincere ;
May he fix thy light passions, now wav'ring as air,
Then leave thee, inconstant, to shame and despair!
Repent not, MATILDA, return not to me:
Unavailing thy grief, thy repentance will be:
In vain will thy vows or thy smiles be resum'd,
For Love, once extinguish'd, is never relum'd.
ENEATH yon yew-tree's silent shade,
Long, tufted grass the spot discloses
Where, low in death untimely laid,
Pale MIRA's silent form reposes.
The plaintive bird, at ev'ning-close,
Pours there her softly-mournful numbers;
The earth its earliest sweets bestows,
To deck the grave where MIRA slumbers.
There SUMMER'S brightest flow'rs appear;
There oft the hollow breeze is swelling;
The passing stranger drops a tear
On MIRA's dark and narrow dwelling.
The moralist, with musing eyes,
Loves there his pensive steps to measure: "How vain is human pride!" he cries; "How soon is lost each earthly treasure!
"To snatch the fleeting bubble, joy,
How weak is ev'ry fond endeavour!
We rush to seize the glitt'ring 'toy;
It bursts, it vanishes for ever!
"How soon our pleasures pass away!
How soon our bliss must yield to sorrow!
The friend, with whom we smile to-day,
May wither in his shroud to-morrow!"
UNQUE addio, care selve,
Care mie selve, addio.
Ricevete questi ultimi sospiri,
Fin che sciolta da ferro ingiusto, e crudo,
Torni la mia fredd' ombra
A le vostr' ombre amate.
Che nel penoso inferno
Non può gir innocente,
Nè può star tra beati
Disperata e dolente.
i' moro, e senza colpa,
E senza frutto; e senza te, cor mio:
Mi moro, oime, MIRTILLO.)
Dear woods, your sacred haunts I leave:
Adieu! my parting sighs receive!
Adieu! dear native woods, adieu !
Which I no more am doom'd to view,
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