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Lines, To the Memory of John Milbank Esq. Son of the Late Sir Ralph Milbank

WRITTEN BY PARTICULAR REQUEST OF THE AUTHOR'S SISTER .

Mild were his sorrows! dignified — serene,
And graceful Resignation touch'd his mien,
Whilst Love paternal cast its soft'ning glow,
O'er the dark scene of suff'ring and of woe. —
Come, spotless Truth, thy flow'rs shou'd ever bloom,
With sweets unfading, o'er thy M ILBANK'S tomb!
— Oh virtuous Spirit! form'd on earth to prove
The purest energy of faithful Love!
To find a nobler state must yield, sincere,
That heartfelt peace which oft is wounded here!

Early Love Revisited

( " O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir. " )

I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this beautiful valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
In how short a span doth all Nature change,
How quickly she smoothes with her hand serene —
And how rarely she snaps, in her ceaseless range,
The links that bound our hearts to the scene.

The Sybil's Tomb

FROM THE GREEK

I was the Sibyl! — In this marble cell
Sleep the pale lips that breathed the oracle.
Death's sceptre stoop'd upon my virgin brow;
Then voice and beauty fled! All's silent now.
Yet still with Hermes and the Nymphs I rove,
Elysian spirit! — I was Phaebus' love.

To Italy

Mother of Dante and Raffaelle — I TALY ,
Poets will ever love thy skies of calm,
And voice of music, and warm breath of balm,
And glorious forms of grace and majesty! —
Old Chaucer loved thee for Boccaccio's stories —
Spenser for Tasso's; and Milton trod
Thy viny fields — Milton, minstrel of God, —
And loved idolatrously thy olden glories.
As poets have loved thee, do thou love them —
And chiefly one who wanders now thy land;
Be as the fondest lover unto him;
And shield him from the savage bandit's hand,

Epitaph

High peace to the soul of the dead,
From the dream of the world she has gone!
On the stars in her glory to tread,
To be bright in the blaze of the throne.

In youth she was lovely; and Time,
When her rose with the cypress he twined,
Left her heart all the warmth of its prime,
Left her eye all the light of her mind.

The summons came forth, — and she died!
Yet her parting was gentle, for those
Whom she loved, mingled tears at her side —
Her death was the mourner's repose.

Our weakness may weep o'er her bier,

With Many a Plant

I.

With many a plant, with many a flower,
My lattice, my casement is gleaming,
In whose spreading bells, at midnight's hour,
Many a fairy lies dreaming.
To-night! to-night! when all are at rest,
(Unless, my love, you abhor it,)
I mean to think what 'tis I love best,
And ask some light fairy for it.

II.

Come, whisper me, love, within this bower,
What you count as the greatest blessing,

As Beauty Was Rambling

I.

As Beauty was rambling o'er Pleasure's ground,
And threading many a mazy grove,
Oh! who do you think she sleeping found?
But Love! sweet Love!
Well pleas'd, she sought no longer to roam,
But plac'd the boy in her bosom fair,
And brought him, sleeping, in safety home,
To flourish there.

II.

But Beauty went out the very next day,
To sail on a lake the sun shone on,
And when she return'd, fatigu'd with play;
She found Love gone.

Wit's Ramble

I.

In former times, dear Wit was whirl'd
Through azure clouds above,
To take a trip all round the world,
And try and find out Love.
From his light home as he came forth,
In chariot and a pair,
Says he, " I'll drive towards the North,
" And see if Love be there. "

II.

But soon the North he left in ire,
And said, " Those heaps I see
" Of drifted snow, would chill Love's fire,

Time Cannot Change My Love

Quoth an inquirer, " Praise the Merciful!
My thumb which yesterday a scorpion nipped —
(It swelled and blackened) — lo, is sound again!
By application of a virtuous root
The burning has abated: that is well:
But now methinks I have a mind to ask, —
Since this discomfort came of culling herbs
Nor meaning harm, — why needs a scorpion be?
Yea, there began, from when my thumb last throbbed,
Advance in question framing, till I asked
Wherefore should any evil hap to man —
From ache of flesh to agony of soul —