English

Who doth presume my Mistress's name to scan,
Goes about more then any way he can,
Since all men think that it is Susan . Echo Ann .

What say'st? Then tell who is as white as Swan,
While others set by her are pale and wan,
Then, Echo , speak, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Tell, Echo , yet, whose middle's but a span,
Some being gross as bucket, round as pan;
Say, Echo , then, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Say, is she not soft as meal without bran,
Though yet in great hast once from me she ran,

A Tale.

Dark hangs the drousy murm'ring moonless night;
Clouds wrap each twinkler from the useless fight;
Hous'd is each swain, worn with the day's long toil,
Wielding the flail, or turning o'er the soil;
Lone now the fields, the banks, the meadows all,
Save where frogs croak, or noisome lizards crawl.

Seen from the hill, Edina's turrets glow
With beaming lamps, in many a glittering row,
That glad the sight, while slow approaching near,

Thou Black, wherein all colours are compos'd,
And unto which they all at last return,
Thou colour of the Sun where it doth burn,
And shadow, where it cools, in thee is clos'd
Whatever nature can, or hath dispos'd
In any other Hue: from thee do rise
Those tempers and complexions, which disclos'd,
As parts of thee, do work as mysteries,
Of that thy hidden power; when thou dost reign
The characters of fate shine in the Skies,
And tell us what the Heavens do ordain,
But when Earth's common light shines to our eys,

WITH A SATIRICAL Poem .

When curst Oppression rears his brazen crest,
With-holds one half, and strains to seize the rest;
When those in pow'r, disdaining shame or dread,
Half-starve those wretches they pretend to feed;
Then should the Muse, with honest zeal inspir'd,
With hate of guilt and vile injustice fir'd,
Disclose their crimes, and to the world display
The gloomy catalogue in deep array;
Till Vice confounded, hides her haggard head,
And lovely Virtue rises in her stead.

Meek Animal! tho' thou by cruel hand from skies
More genial far than these by force wert torn,
Where on the spicy bough, from eve to morn,
'Midst kindred shapes, and birds of various dyes,
Thou free as air didst sit; — Know, happy prize,
That to the Muse's seat thou now art born,
Where Elegance and Truth the Mind adorn,
And unaffected Art with Nature vies:

By gentle hand each hour thou now art fed,

In vain from Clime to Clime I stray
To chace thy beauteous form away,
And banish every fear;
In vain to quit thy charms I try,
Since every thought creates a sigh,
And every wish a tear!

Ask that which bears my Plaints, the Breeze,
If ought can lend a moment's ease,
Or ought my griefs assuage.
Oh! it will tell Thee how I trace
With pain each step, each lingering pace,
And think each Hour an age!

Not the bright sun, whose setting smile
Shoots from yon cliff to western Isle,

He could not close his weary eyes
Because she chid him, ere she slept;
He left his bed at morning rise,
And through the streets uneasy swept,
Waiting till slumber's truce should cease,
And she might give the sign of peace.
Shall she be proud? oh no —
It is not she, but Love
That moves the great heart so.

She gave it, and he bent his head,
The head that bears the massy curls,
And pressed the lips, so lustrous red,

As Samson in the temple of his foes —
Be patient in the hand that crushes thee, —
'Twere but one sudden struggle, one wild throe;
Like the blind Anarch, thou wert venged and free.

This deadly power discerning in thyself,
Keep guarded from the slow match of desire;
Who disembosoms the volcanic Earth
Shall not forget to loose the latent fire.

So in an atom lies the Infinite,
Concentred thou mayst deem it, not confined;
So in the narrow prison of thy life
Be conscious of the boundless scope of mind.

Black beamy hairs, which so seem to arise
From the extraction of those eyes,
That into you she destin-like doth spin
The beams she spares, what time her soul retires,
And by those hallow'd fires,
Keeps house all night within.

Since from within her awful front you shine,
As threads of life which she doth twine,
And thence ascending with your fatal rays,
Do crown those temples, where Love's wonders wrought
We afterwards see brought
To vulgar light and praise.

Lighten through all your regions, till we find

I can but fill the page I owe
With pictures of the things I see.
I pause to feel the noontide glow,
And bless what God ordains to be.

This tireless harmony of life,
Impulse and weight divinely poised;
This upward flight of Thought and Love,
These slow perfections, recognized.

And could I ask, it were to heal
The struggles of this Mother-mould,
That flings us flaming, from its breast,
That hides our ashes, spent and cold.

I could implore great gifts of Peace
To ransom grief-embittered hearts,