English

I.

I had a vision: evening sat in gold
Upon the bosom of a boundless plain.
Cover'd with beauty; — garden, field, and fold,
Studding the billowy sweep of ripening grain,
Like islands in the purple summer main.
And temples of pure marble met the sun,
That tinged their white shafts with a golden stain;
And sounds of rustic joy, and labour done,

To my Sister Lady Clerth We were then at school together.

I.

Have I from childhood then, been writing,
And erst I well could write, inditing,
In scribling ever still delighting;
since first the muse
Did kindly string my infant lyre,
And o'er my mind poetic fire
as kind infuse;

II.

Since first young fancy's meteor beam,
Did on my dawning genius gleam,
And wrapt me in poetic dream;
as oft I strove
To sing, a sigh, a smile, a tear,
Or haply, an idea dear

WHO DIED O CTOBER 13, 1794

Come, bright ingenuous Truth, your loss deplore,
Come Friendship weep, for B EVAN is no more!
Come injur'd Innocence, that sought redress,
And heav'n-born Charity, that loves to bless,
And Gratitude — for ev'ry heart he knew,
His gen'rous cares might render grateful toe!
Come round his grave — lament the awful doom,
Which laid your gentle patron in the tomb! —
Oh hapless By fleet! never more your bow'rs,
Shall sooth the sweet retirement of his hours!

Whilst Ovid here reveals the various arts
Both how to polish and direct their darts,
Let meaner beauties by his rules improve,
And read these lines to gain success in love:
But Heav'n alone, that multiplies our race,
Has pow'r t' increase the conquests of your face.
The Spring, before he paints the rising flow'rs,
Receives mild beams and soft descending shew'rs;
But love blooms ever fresh beneath your charms,
Tho' neither pity weeps nor kindness warms.
The chiefs who doubt success assert their claim

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.

“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,

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,