English

TO THE PRINCESS D'AUVERGNE .

Cupid, delighting to be near her,
Charm'd to behold her, charm'd to hear her,
As he stood gazing on her face,
Enchanted with each matchless grace,
Lost in the trance, he drops the dart,
Which never fails to reach the heart:
She seizes it, and arms her hand,
“'Tis thus I Love himself command:
“Now tremble, cruel Boy!” she said,
“For all the mischief you have made.”
 The god, recov'ring his surprise,
Trusts to his wings, away he flies;

Health, honour, vertue once combin'd
To make one perfect of the female kind,
At length they met with you, and did protest
To go no further, but set up their rest
Within your armes: those now that mean to share
In them must borrow what you please to spare:
You superrogate, and there doth lye
Such store of them in your rich treasurie,
That you may well afford so much as will
Some meaner persons in good measure fill.
The after-droppings of a catarackt
Will raise the lesser brooks that water lack't,

Less because Petrarch and his Muse have made
These hills and streams immortal as his fame,
Linked in melodious verse with Laura's name,
Than for thy sake, O Nature! have I strayed
To this wild region. In the rocky glade.
Deep at the mountain's base, the fountains keep
Their ceaseless gushing, till the waters leap
A mighty torrent from the endless shade;
A moment linger there in glassy rest,
Break on the craggy steep with foaming crest,
Then thunder through the chasm, swift and strong!

I.

 Soon I must hear the solemn call
(Prepar'd or not) to yield my breath;
And this poor mortal frame must fall
 A helpless prey to cruel death.

II.

Then look; my soul, look forward now,
 And anchor safe beyond the flood;
Now to the Saviour's footstool, bow,
  And get a life secure in GOD .

III.

Before these fleeting hours are gone,
 I'll bid this mortal world adieu;
 And to the Lord I'll now resign
My life, my breath, and spirit too.

IV.

'Twas finely tim'd! third Edward 's brightest days
Had, from such captains, claim'd increase of praise:
But, now, 'tis tenfold greatness, thus, to rise,
Where sense of vict'ry , lost in purse-craft , lies!
Where war but pilfers, and but bags contest;
And public honour is the public jest .
At such a time, to dare the sneerer's joke;
To rush on danger, when but foes provoke;
Un-brib'd, by profit's impulse, fight for bays,
And court no praemium , but his country's praise.
'Tis prodigy ! 'tis out of nature's road;

TO THE DUCHESS OF HAMILTON .

Awake, bright Hamilton! arise,
Goddess of Love and of the Day;
Awake, disclose thy radiant eyes,
And shew the sun a brighter ray:
Phaebus in vain calls forth the blushing morn;
He but creates the day which you adorn.
The lark, that wont with warbling throat
Early to salute the skies,
Or sleeps, or else suspends his note,
Disclaiming day till you arise.
Goddess! awake, thy beams display,
Restore the universe to light:
When Hamilton appears then dawns the day,

We envy Shropshire now, since it of late
Doth you impropriate,
Not letting us have the least share in you,
To whom a part is due.

We wish your Buckland-house a palace were
That we might see you there;
For since the time that you went hence away,
We not ourselves enjoy.
In losing you we lose our better part,
And now we have no heart.
Or quick'n us with your presence as before,
Or else we languish and can live no more.

I.

Charmer! no more, by partial friendship led,
To humble themes, mis-tune thy heav'nly lyre!
Wide as the poles, thy sweeping pinions spread,
And soar to subjects, worthy of thy fire !

II.

C HAIN'D short, by fortune , I, unwing'd , remain,
A fruitless meaner, far beneath thy praise:
Warm'd , by thy heat, I poorly wish, in vain,
For means, to fan thy earth-enlight'ning blaze.

III.

To Spain ! forbid it, heav'n ! oh, think no more,
To bless, profusely, that abounding shore!
It can, to souls, like thine , no pleasure yield,
To waste manure, on the too fertile field:
Our beggar'd soil, at home, alone, shou'd share,
The gen'rous influence of E LIZA 's care!
Since Spain , high-treasur'd, grasps the golden west ,
Oh! let thy Indies , be, by us, possest!

STROPHE

 Halcyon, O Halcyon,
 Who by Pontus' rocky shore
 Singest mournful evermore,
 In a song whose tones are clear
 If kindred sorrow lends an ear,
Calling for thy husband lost,
 Brooding on the sea,—
Wingless halcyon of the foam,
 I can grieve with thee.
Grieving for the home I love,
 Longing for Diana's shrine
Where she dwells in Cynthian grove,
Where purple fold and locks of gold
 Deck her form divine;
For the fragrant Daphne's flowers;
 For the olive's fruitage sere,