Farewell! sweet Maid! each flatt'ring hope is o'er!
Never — oh never, shall I view thee more!
As some fair lilly, but of transient worth,
Droops from its sever'd stalk to silent earth,
Such didst thou seem, when first my anxious view
Beheld thy form! so fair and fading too!
Alas! 'twas thine, unconscious to impart
The kindest wishes to a stranger's heart!
Mild Diffidence, with sweet retiring Grace,
Beam'd on the features of thy lovely face;
And heav'nly Patience cast its ray serene,
O'er the pale langour of thy artless mien.

TO SOUTHERNE'S SPARIAN DAME

When realms are ravag'd with invasive foes,
Each bosom with heroic ardour glows;
Old chiefs, reflecting on their former deeds,
Disdain to rust with batter'd invalids,
But active in the foremost ranks appear,
And leave young smock-fac'd beaus to guard the rear.
So, to repel the Vandals of the stage,
Our vet'ran bard resumes his tragic rage:
He throws the gauntlet Otway us'd to wield,
And calls for Englishmen to judge the field.
Thus arm'd, to rescue Nature from disgrace,

“Whene'er I wed,” young Strephon cry'd,
“Ye Pow'rs that o'er the noose preside!
“Wit, beauty, wealth, good-humour, give,
“Or let me still a rover live;
“But if all these no nymph can share,
“Let mine, ye Pow'rs! be doubly fair.”
Thus pray'd the swain in heat of blood,
Whilst nigh celestial Cupid stood,
And tapping him, said, “Youth! be wife,
“And let a child for once advise.
“A faultless make, a manag'd wit,
“Humour, and riches, rarely meet:
“But if a beauty you'd obtain,
“Court some bright Phyllis of the brain;

When kind Instruction thus exerts her care,
And paints Religion with a smile so fair,
When meekly wise, she trembles to reprove,
As firm as Wisdom, yet as mild as Love!
Then soft conviction, with resistless art,
Shall grave her precepts on the ductile heart,
Shall teach the pow'rs of Nature to unfold,
And turn, with potent touch, her dross to gold.

Oh thou! whose eloquence, inspir'd by Truth,
Attracts the ear of light unthinking Youth;
Oh thou! whose gen'rous, whose paternal care,
Leads the gay wanderer from each tempting snare!

ON HIS ACKNOWLEDGING AN ERROR IN HIS FIRST POETICAL COLLECTION .

As glowing PhÅ?bus, with his morning beam,
Dispels the fiction of th' illusive dream;
So heav'nly Truth, with clear refulgent light,
Bursts through the gloom of intellectual night,
And pure with radiance from her morning sky,
Bids the pale form of chearless Error fly. —
Blest be the day — for ever blest the hour!
When C ARLO 's breast confest her sacred pow'r!
The conscious Muse, her triumph shall impart —
A worthy off'ring is thy conquer'd heart:

Ah timid, trembling thing, no more
Shalt thou beneath each rude breath sink,
Thy virgin attribute is o'er,
From e'vn the gentlest touch to shrink!

No more the zephyr's balmy kiss,
Shall find thy chaste reluctance such,
Still shrinking from the fragrant bliss,
Still vibrating to every touch:

Proud of thy feeling power, the breast
Of A DILA with rival pride
You sought, — and drooping there confest,
That feeling power surpass'd, and died! There to thy keen sensations peace be given,
And there from earth remov'd, enjoy thy heaven!

Come idle urchin, treach'rous boy,
Thou dang'rous play-thing, transient joy:
Thy restless pinion hither bend,
Or on thy mother's dove descend;
Or on a fragrant gale repose,
Fresh from the bosom of a rose;
Or on a sun-beam hither hie,
Or bear thee on a balmy sigh!
Oh come, while yet th' impulse is warm,
To realize thy Proteus form,
Come, arm'd with all thy magic arts,
Thy quiver, arrows, bow and darts;
Come with thy legion of delusions,
Call up thy phalanx of illusions;

Embody all thy arch conceptions,

How shall the Muse her feeble verse impart,
Or speak the anguish of a Daughter's heart?
But oh! ere Death may chill the conscious lay,
(Lest honour'd Truth should seem Oblivion's prey)
'Tis fit the Muse thy gentle kindness rear'd,
Should pay one tribute to a friend rever'd! —
Tho' stung with follies, and with grief opprest,
Thy gen'rous kindness glows within my breast! —
Thy sweet benevolence, thy friendly worth,
Thy glowing eloquence, thy courteous mirth,
Thy spotless honour, thy ingenuous truth,
Blends with the mem'ry dear of early youth;

E, fornito l' mio tempo a mezzo gli anni.

Another year! — so soon, so rapid fled,
Already mingled with the countless dead;
Nor left of all its joys, its griefs behind,
A single wreck within my dormant mind;
That mind; still treasuring in its record page,
Each heartfelt scene of my progressive age;
Since first th'internal chaos gradual ran
Its course to order; — Reason first began
T'assume her rights, and embryotic thought
Gleam'd on my soul; — its pains, its blisses brought.
My infant joys, — the slow unfolding sense,

High o'er the summit of th' impetuous main,
Where billows beat, and tempests rage in vain,
A tow'ring structure rears its princely form,
And mocks the vengeance of the angry storm! —
No festive bow'rs shall Luxury here produce,
No gay resorts for Folly's trivial use;
No voice of Riot here shall shake the dome,
Nor wild Intemp'rance mocks the midnight gloom,
But Virtue mild, benignant, and sincere,
In sacred silence, keeps her empire here.
— Escap'd from toils, from grandeur, and from strife,
And calmly shelter'd from the storms of life,