English

How poor is Grandeur, and how vain is Power,
When awful Death invades the dismal hour!
The Miser's key must then resign its trust,
And Pleasure's garland withers in the dust!
But Evergreens there are, of lasting bloom,
Which ev'n shall grace the dark funereal gloom:
Ev'n round the silent tomb they glow divine,
And T, their shade shall honour thine.
There gentle Charity shall rear her balm,
Beneath Devotion's ever-sacred palm;
And Friendship too, shall plant her myrtles sweet,
Which yield their fragrance in the calm retreat.

Inscribed to the Inbabitants of N EWRY .

Now, when cold Winter's wind and chilling snows
Come, dreadful to the Poor, the pensive breast
Feels Pity inly thrilling at their woes,
By their combin'd calamities distress'd.

When the sad widow, with her infant train,
Stands shiv'ring at the rich man's lofty door,
What bosom can its sympathy restrain? —
What hand would not relieve the suppliant poor?

Remember the Bard, though mute is his lyre,
And wither'd for ever the hands that he flung
O'er its chords, while with more than a patriot's fire,
He the triumphs of freedom and bravery sung.
He had strings too for beauty, love, virtue, and truth,
That shone ever bright, and as free from decay,
As those lines which the Easterns beheld in their youth,
And gaz'd on in age, as their souls fled away.

Remember the Bard, like the Huma sublime,
He ne'er sinks to the earth, so exalted his flight;

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,

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,