Imatges de pàgina
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O thou that rearest with celestial aim The fature Seraph in my mortal frame, Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet, As on I totter with unpractised feet, Still let me stretch my arms nd cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy !

IMITATED FROM THE WELSH.

IF, while my passion I impart,

You deem my words untrue,
O place your

hand
Feel how it throbs for you.

upon my heart

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim

In pity to your Lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame,

It wishes to discover.

DOMESTIC PEACE.

Tell me, on what holy ground
May Domestic Peace be found
Halcyon Daughter of the skies!
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptered State,
From the rebel's noisy hate,
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells !
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow, smiling through her tears,
And, conscious of the past employ,
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.

1794.

VOL. I.

3

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY

THE HOUSE OF “ THE MAN OF ROSS."

RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords,
Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ;
He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of

praise,
He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay,
Poured the bright blaze of Freedom's, noontide

ray. Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass, Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl. But if, like me, through life's distressful scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been; And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in

thought; Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt, And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt !

TO A FRIEND,

TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM.

Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme
Elaborate and swelling; yet the heart
Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers
I ask not now, my Friend ! the aiding verse,
Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought
Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know)
From business wandering far and local cares,
Thou creepest round a dear-loved Sister's bed
With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look;
Soothing each pang with fond solicitude,
And tenderest tones medicinal of love.
I too a Sister had, an only Sister-
She loved me dearly, and I doted on her!
To her I poured forth all my puny sorrows
(As a sick Patient in his Nurse's arms)
And of the heart those hidden maladies
That shrink ashamed from even Friendship's eye.
0! I have woke at midnight, and have wept,
Because she was not !--Cheerily, dear Charles !
Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year ;
Such warm presages feel I of high Hope.
For not uninterested the dear maid

I've viewed—her soul affectionate yet wise,
Her polished wit as mild as lambent glories
That play around a sainted infant's head.
(He knows, the Spirit that in secret sees,
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind)*
That my mute thoughts are sad before His thronc,
Prepared, when He his healing ray vouchsafes,
To pour forth thanksgiving with lifted heart,
And praise Him Gracious with a Brother's joy!

December, 1794.

* I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines

Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind,

it being written in Scripture, “Ask, and it shall be given you;” and my human reason being, moreover, convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity.-S. T. C., 1797.

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