9

Where science first dawn'd on the powers

of reflection, And friendships were form’d, too

romantic to last; '

6. Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep

imprecation, By my daughters of kingdom and

reason depriv'd; Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self

adulation, I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'd.

7. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I

regret you ! Unfaded your memory dwells in my

breast; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can

forget you: Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.

8. To Ida full oft may remembrance restore

me, While Fate shall the shades of the

future unroll! Since Darkness o'ershadows the pros

pect before me, More dear is the beam of the past to

my soul!

Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the

resemblance Of comrades, in friendship and mis

chief allied; How welcome to me your ne'er fading

remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!

3. Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The streams where we swam, and the

fields where we fought; The school where, loud warn'd by the

bell, we resorted, To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.

4. Again I behold where for hours I have

ponder'd, As reclining, at eve, on yon tomb

stone ? I lay; Or round the steep brow of the church

yard I wander'd To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.

5. I once more view the room, with spec

tators surrounded, Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo

oʻerthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such

applauses resounded, I fancied that Mossop ' himself was

outshone.

("My school-friendships were with Hasrichs (for I was always violent), but I do Det know that there is one which has endured (to be sure, some have been cut short by death) ali ya." --- Lellers, 1801, v. 455.)

9. But if, through the course of the years

which await me, Some new scene of pleasure should

open to view, I will say, while with rapture the thought

shall elate me, "Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew."

1806. [First printed, December, 1806.)

me

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A

COLLEGE EXAMINATION. High in the midst, surrounded by his

peers, MAGNUS his ample front sublime Th' ATHENIAN'S' glowing style, or

TULLY's fire. A manner clear or warm is useless, since We do not try by speaking to convince; Be other orators of pleasing proud, We speak to please ourselves, not move

the crowd: Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, A proper mixture of the squeak and

groan: No borrowed grace of action must be

seen, The slightest motion would displease the

Dean; Whilst every staring Graduate would

prate, Against what he could never imitate.

Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a

God, While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at

his nod; As all around sit wrapt in speechless

gloom, Ilis voice, in thunder, shakes the sound

ing dome; Denouncing dire reproach to luckless

fools, Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. Happy the youth! in Euclid's

axioms tried, Though little vers’d in any art beside; Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to

pen, Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. What! though he knows not how his

fathers bled, When civil discord pil'd the fields with

dead, When Edward bade his conquering

bands advance, Or Henry trampled on the crest of

France: Though marvelling at the name of

Magna Charta, Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta; Can tell, what edicts sage Lycurgus

made, While Blackstone's on the shelf, neg

lected laid; Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless

fame, Of Avon's bard, rememb’ring scarce the

The man, who hopes t'obtain the

promis'd cup, Must in one posture stand, and ne'er

look up; Nor stop, but rattle over every word No matter what, so it can not be heard: Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest: Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak

the best ; Who utters most within the shortest

space, May, safely, hope to win the wordy race.

name.

Such is the youth whose scientific pate Class-honours, medals, fellowships,

await; Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, If to such glorious height, he lifts his

eves. But lo! no common orator can hope The envied silver cup within his scope: Not that our heads much eloquence re

The Sons of Science these, who, thus

repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish

shade; Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine,

they lie, Unknown, unhonour'd live unwept

for die: Dull as the pictures, which adorn their

halls, They think all learning fix'd within their

walls: In manners rude, in foolish forms pre

cise, All modern arts affecting to despise; Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or

Porson's ? note,

2.

Here I can trace the locks of gold Which round thy snowy forehead

wave; The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's

mould; The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.

3. Here I can trace - ah, no! that eye,

Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

More than the verse on which the critic

Tole : l'ain as their honours, heavy as their Ale, Sadas their wit, and tedious as their tale ; To friendship dead, though not un

taught to feel, When Self and Church demand a Bigot

zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of

power, Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY' rules the

bour;) To kim, with suppliant smiles, they bend

the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are

spread; But should a storm o'erwhelm him with

disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his

place. Suck are the men who learning's treas

ures guard! Sack is their practice, such is their

reward! This much, at least, we may presume to

say The premium can't exceed the price they

1806. [First printed, December, 1806.]

4. Here I behold its beauteous hue; But where's the beam so sweetly stray

ing, Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing ?

5. Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be, Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.

6. She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering

soul, Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast controul.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.?

1.

Tais faint resemblance of thy charms, (Though strong as mortal art could

give,) My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

7. Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time,

'twill cheer My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear, And meet my fond, expiring gaze.

(First printed, December, 1806.]

ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU

APPEARED IN THE MORNING POST.”

6

“Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's

death, But bless the hour, when Pitt resign'd

Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning

world must weep, Whose dear remains in honour'd marble

sleep; For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations

groan, While friends and foes, alike, his talents

own. Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals,

shine, Nor e'en to Pitt, the patriot's palm

resign; Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred

mask, For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dar'd to ask.

SOUTHWELL, October, 1806.] [First printed, December, 1806.]

TO A LADY 1

WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR BRAIDED

WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN.

Ou, factious viper whose en venom'd

tooth Would mangle, still, the dead, pervert

ing truth; What, though our “nation's foes"

lament the fate, With generous feeling, of the good and

great; Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the

name Of him, whose meed exists in endless

fame? When Pitt expir'd in plenitude of

power, Though ill success obscur'd his dying

hour, Pity her dewy wings before him spread, For noble spirits war not with the

dead": His friends in tears, a last sad requiem

gave, As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the

weight Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting

state. When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd: He, too, is fall’n, who Britain's loss sup

plied. With him, our fast reviving hopes have

died; Not one great people, only, raise his urn, All Europe's far-extended regions

mourn. “These feelings wide, let Sense and

Truth unclue, To give the palm where Justice points its

due;" Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assail, Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil.

(September 26, 1806.)

THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th’ unmeaning protestations Which swell with nonsense, love orations. Our love is fix’d, I think we've prov'd it; Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd

it; Then wherefore should we sigh and

whine, With groundless jealousy repine; With silly whims, and fancies frantic, Merely to make our love romantic? Why should you weep, like Lydia

Languish, And fret with self-created anguish? Or doom the lover vou have chosen, On winter nights to sigh half frozen; In leafless shades, to sue for pardon, Only because the scene's a garden? For gardens seem, by one consent, (Since Shakespeare set the precedent; Since Juliet first declar'd her passion) To form the place of assignation.

And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain;
I would not say, “I love," but still,
My senses struggle with my will:
In vain 'to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies:
Perhaps, this is not love, but yet,
Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

Ob! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He, surely, in commiseration,
Had chang'd the place of declaration.
In Italy, I've no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
Trere, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac'd in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness'd rural loves;
Then, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I'll be content to freeze;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.'

(First printed, December, 1806.)

What, though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels;
Deceit, the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft convers'd,
And all our bosoms felt rehears'd,
No spirit, from within, reprov'd us,
Say rather, “'twas the spirit mov'd us.”
Though, what they utter'd, I repress,
Yet I conceive thou’lt partly guess;
For as on thee, my memory ponders,
Perchance to me, thine also wanders.
This, for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night,

through day;
Awake, with it my fancy teems,
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight,
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await;
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image, I can ne'er forget.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.? SZLET girl! though only once we met, Taat meeting I shall ne'er forget;

In the above little piece the author has been xrised by some candid readers of introducing

Alas! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then, let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictate of my bogom's care:
"May Heaven so guard my lovely

quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker!
Oh! may the happy mortal, fated
To be, by dearest ties, related,
For her, each hour, new joys discover,