Rage on, ye winds, with direst might,
Descend ye lightnings from above;
Enfold me round ye shades of night,
And shield me from the shafts of Love.

No more can gentle Peace resume
Its wonted throne within my breast;
Or Hope the darksome void illume,
Sad bosom barr'd for e'er of rest.

Unkind Miranda! merc'less fair!
Say, why you caus'd me thus distress'd?
Too lovely nymph! why solemn swear,
You liv'd to make Orlando blest?

Say, why that cruel fond concern
Of poor Orlando, once you took?

We rov'd, methought, one summer's day,
Through some delightful silent glade,
Where crystal fountains ever play,
And wild-flowers deck the fragrant shade.

And we resolv'd to gather those,
Which bloom'd all brilliant, bright, and fair,
And did more tints than one disclose,
And lent a perfume to the air.

Determining within some bower,
To part the tints so sweet to see,
And half of every shining flower

No more let haughty Gallia boast,
(Surrounded by a num'rous host),
With triumph to invade our coast,
And Britons to subdue!

We know that Persia's num'rous band
A few brave Greeks cou'd once withstand
And Fame, ev'n now, reveres the land.
Where once their laurels grew.

To Heaven Britannia trusts her might,
And while her Daughters nobly write,
More nobly still her sons may fight —
May fight — and conquer too!

Ingenious youth! whom Fame has yet forbore
To note among the fav'rites of her praise,
Lest Adulation should its flatt'ry pour
Upon the structure that thy skill must raise.

Bright as the tints that oft the canvas stains,
And variegated as their beauteous hues,
Is thy warm fancy;—fruitful as the plains
Of fragrent Eden, that rich sweets diffuse.

Ere Time enrolls thee in the vale of years,
Thy modest merit shall resplendent shine;
And timid Diffidence o'ercome its fears,
And spread its value like the tendril vine.

There was a harp of old that hung
In fairy woods, — and youths of fire
Would touch the string, and, as they sung,
Breathe forth their inmost heart's desire.

Then swift the harp an answer made,
An answer ne'er to be forgot,
And told the swain the bashful maid
Was his alone, — or she was not.

Oh, were that harp existing now,
I would not seek its wild decree,
I'd trust unto my Mary's vow,
That she exists alone for me.

I'd sooner trust her glancing eye,
Which hath for me a sun-shine wore,

Oh! worthy Friend! to Truth, to Kindred dear!
From fair Respect thy mem'ry claims a tear;
While solemn Fancy, with her soothing pow'r,
Sects a treasure from thy dying hour. —
How blest is he, who thus, when Life is past,
Finds in Eternity his home at last!
Where waves tumultuous never more shall rise,
Nor tempests reach his harbour in the skies! —
From those bright Realms of Happiness Above,
There shines a gleam to sooth ev'n widow'd Love!
To cheer the filial heart, which droops opprest,
And bid fraternal Sorrow gently rest;

I cull'd a heap of bright and blooming flowers,
From streamlet's side and fairy-wreathed bowers;
And for myself a brilliant crown I wove,
Fit crown to deck a youthful Bard of Love.
Then flew delighted to those radiant halls,
Where festive boards are spread for he who calls,
Though stranger quite, or from some foreign shore,
Whence houseless wand'rer ne'er was seen before.

I tun'd my harp, and sung my sweetest song;
Th' applause burst forth, and echo'd loud and long,
And mirth flew round; and swift the goblets pass'd,

Celestial Venus shines with fainter light,
And bloomy Morn proclaims approaching Day;
Maria, let us walk, and please our sight,
With Summer's beauties, in her best array.

The rising sun, with horizontal beams,
Gilds the sweet fields, that glitter with the dew;
His rich effulgence sparkles in the streams,
And woods and mountains are disclos'd to view.

How sweet and cool the morning breeze, my love!
How gay and joyous ev'ry sight and sound!
Meek Nature's music fills each hedge and grove,

Spirit benign! accept a long adieu!
The Muse of Harmony laments thee too:
Inly she mourns, and o'er her downy wings
The sable robe of gloomy Sorrow flings. —
Oh, awful Christchurch! while the Muse shall shed
Her silver beams o'er thy majestic head,
The Mem'ry's eye, for ever priz'd and dear,
The placid form of J ACKSON shall appear!
Still mild and courteous, gentle and serene,
His soothing Friendship shall enrich the scene,
When sacred Duty claim'd his noblest pow'rs,
He gave to Heaven (as due) those solemn hours;

A SENTIMENTAL BALLAD .

With heavy clouds roll'd on the night,
And all was hush'd and still!
When lost L AVINIA took her flight,
And climb'd the neighb'ring hill.

Unheeded was the dreary gloom,
For Love and deep despair
Had seized her heart — nor left it room
For fears to harbour there. —

" Oh sable night! " she sadly cried,
" Methinks, thy shades I see