English

Now the loud winds with angry pinions sweep
The laboring bosom of the stormy deep,
The face of day o'erspread by vapors scowls,
And 'mid the shrouds the increasing tempest howls,
O'er the tall mall the giant surges rise,
And a new Chaos mingles earth and skies;
Bold even in danger's face, the naval train
Exert their force, and try their art in vain;
Despair and Death on all their efforts lower,
And the loud tempest mocks their feeble power.
Large and more large the threatening rocks appear,

Worn out with unavailing care,
Ah! whither shall I turn!
No other rest remains for me,
But in the peaceful urn.

Nor pride, nor folly will insult
The tenant of the tomb;
Those, whose neglect abridg'd my life,
Perhaps will mourn my doom.

Perhaps my Delia will shed
A tear upon my grave,
And give that pity, when I'm dead,
She ne'er, when living, gave.

Dry up the unavailing tear,
And mourn no more for me,
My troubles were unpitied here,
I'm now from trouble free.

Ye frolic Nymphs who leave the desart hills,
Charm'd by the murmurs of descending rills
Where fair Landough enjoys her rural reign
And smiles the loveliest village on the plain;
Whose whisper'd voice so oft your poet leads
In fairy dreams thro' Thaw's elysian meads;
Be present, Nymphs: your beauteous groves I sing
Green in the breathing bloom of tender spring;
To you these groves, these pictur'd meads belong,
Thrice copious subject of my youthful song.
O say, ye swains so blest, ye favour'd few,

Naples, the envied and the beautiful,
Whose loveliness was fame;—her peasants were
Held in the ruthless grasp of feudal power;
Tyranny was triumphant:—the stern lord
Trode on the withered heart of the worn slave,
Whose famished offspring had, perchance, been sent
Unhelped, unsolaced, to untimely death.

The iron hand of power despoiled the wretch
Ev'n of the meagre earnings of his toil—
Oppression was the sole omnipotence,
And all who were not noble, must, perforce
Bow down before the fiend-like deity;

Their's is a bower, but not of bliss —
Joy cannot spring from love like this:
Unholy love is bought too dear —
Remorse, anxiety, and fear
Must still attend it; and each thought
Be with a burning penance fraught.
They part; he leaves her pale and trembling,
His own deep misery dissembling;
Hiding his fear, lest some keen eye
Their love unlawful should espy.
Like a troubled spirit gliding
Along, while love's wild dream subsiding,
He awakes from fancied bliss
To know himself the wretch he is!

Come gentle Meekness! with thy timid eye,
Thy voice of harmony, thy looks of love!
Thy wings of plumage from the spotless dove,
And mantle blue from the etherial sky!
Thy modest step, soft as the tender foot
Of soothing mercy, when she weeping stands
O'er the pale suff'rer's couch, and wrings her hands,
And forms some pious pray'r his griefs to suit,
Or guards his short repose in anguish mute! —

Come, heav'nly Meekness ! with thy smile serene,
Dispel the tumults of the raging breast;

Bright is thy form, and fair thy face,
Thy look is love, thy motion grace;
Yet, Delia, though these charms may please,
I ne'er had lov'd so well for these.
Thy manners gentle, temper mild,
By slow degrees my heart beguil'd,
By easy steps upon me stole,
And unperceiv'd possess'd my soul,
Before I knew my heart was gone,
Already it was all your own;
Unable now to break my chain,
Your willing captive I remain.

A FABLE

In times of yore, a sprightly Steed,
Who boasted much his youthful speed,
And scorn'd, with pride, the narrow bound,
Which fix'd him in a sober ground;
Resolv'd to try one bold endeavour,
And make his fortune, now or never! —
Impetuous, ardent, wild and young,
O'er the strict fence he lightly sprung,
And darting to the distant way,
He look'd around him, blythe and gay;
And shook his mane, and prick'd his ears,
Disdaining caution — foes, and fears!

There piping Folly tun'd, in vacant mood,
Her cuckow strain, and chim'd her tinkling bells.
Next to the gloom of caves and dusky vaults
Wander'd my eye, where Love lay pining pale,
Where laugh'd wild Frenzy, and where rav'd Despair.
There too stalk'd Slander, hideous fiend, unseen,
And from her foul tongue, like the dog of hell,
Shed her black venom on the virgin robe
Of young unweeting Innocence.
The venom black flow'd frustrate to the ground,
By her unheeded, nor one stain impress'd;

O! why did I devote to thee
That heart which once no trouble knew;
Why chain it down to slavery, —
O! why let love my soul subdue.
The lustre of that diamond eye
Has proved to me a subtle snare; —
I felt the shaft of rapture fly, —
It pierc'd my heart, and rankled there!

I've heard — but dare not deem it true —
That some there are, who never yet
Affliction's racking torture knew, —
Whose eyes no streaming tears have wet.
Such souls as these to all may seem
More envied than a seraph's bliss; —