LINES

To W. L. Esq. while he sang a Song to Purcell's Music.

WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear;
L! methinks, I would not often hear

Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep

My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face at my bed-side,

To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks, such strains, breath'd by my angel-guide, Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

ADDRESSED

TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE

Who abandon'd himself to an indolent and causeless Melancholy.

HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe,

O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear! To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, Go, and some hunger-bitten Infant hear Moan haply in a dying Mother's ear:

Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood

O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm-leaves strew'd, Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part

Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs

The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while thy

heart

Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)
What nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave life's common-weal
A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.

SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER.

DEAR native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,

What happy, and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep impresst
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,

But strait with all their tints their waters rise,

Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey, And bedded sand that vein'd with various dies

Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled

Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs,
Ah! that I were once more a careless child!

VOL. II.

SONNET.

Composed on a journey homeward; the Author having received intelligence of the birth of a Son, September 20, 1796.

OFT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll
Which makes the present (while the flash doth last)
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,
Mix'd with such feelings, as perplex the soul
Self-question'd in her sleep and some have said*
We liv'd, ere yet this robe of Flesh we wore.
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead
(As sometimes, thro' excess of hope, I fear)
I think, that I should struggle to believe

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere

Sentenc'd for some more venial crime to grieve;

Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick

reprieve,

While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!

* Ην που ημων η ψυχη πριν εν τωδε τω ανθρωπινω ειδει γενεσθαι.

PLAT. in Phædon.

SONNET,

To a Friend who asked, how I felt when the Nurse first presented my Infant to me.

CHARLES! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scann'd that face of feeble infancy:
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my child might be !
But when I saw it on its Mother's arm,

And hanging at her bosom (she the while

Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile)
Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm
Impress'd a Father's kiss and all beguil'd
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,
I seem'd to see an angel-form appear—
"Twas even thine, beloved woman mild!

So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear,
And dearer was the Mother for the Child.