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REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ.
Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
soul wings her flight to the reShows the soul from barbarity clear;
gions of night, Compassion will melt where this virtue is And my corse shall recline on its bier, felt,
As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes And its dew is diffused in a Tear.
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,
May no marble bestow the splendour of woe Through billows Atlantic to steer,
Which the children of vanity rear; As he bends o'er the wave which may soon
No fiction of fame shall blazon my name, be his grave,
All I ask -- all I wish — is a Tear.
REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF
J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ.,. ON THE But he raises the foe when in battle laid CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS
low, And bathes every wound with a Tear. 20 Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's dis
dain, If with high-bounding pride he return to Why thus in despair do you fret? his bride,
For months you may try, yet, believe me, a Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,
sigh All bis toils are repaid when, embracing Will never obtain a coquette.
the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. Would you teach her to love ? for a time
seem to rove; Sweet scene of my youth! seat of Friend- At first she may frown in a pet; ship and Truth,
But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile, Where love chased each fast-fleeting And then you may kiss your coquette.
year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs, look I turn'd,
They think all our homage a debt:
And humbles the proudest coquette. Though my vows I can pour to my Mary | Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your no more,
chain, My Mary to Love once so dear,
And seem her hauteur to regret; In the shade of her bower I remember the If again you shall sigh, she no more will hour
deny She rewarded those vows with a Tear. That
yours is the rosy coquette. By another possest, may she live ever If still, from false pride, your pangs she blest!
deride, Her name still my heart must revere: This whimsical virgin forget; With a sigh I resign what I once thought some other admire, who will melt with
was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. And laugh at the little coquette. Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I de- For me, I adore some twenty or more, part,
And love them most dearly; but yet, This hope to my breast is most near: Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
them all, May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. Did they act like your blooming coquette
TO THE SIGHING STREPHON Now, Strephon, good bye; I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd; Your pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did Such love as you plead is pure love indeed, offend,
For it only consists in the word.
[Miss Elizabeth Pigot.) Since your beautiful maid your flame has ELIZA, what fools are the Mussulman sect, repaid,
Who to woman deny the soul's future No more I your folly regret;
existence; She's now most divine, and I bow at the Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own shrine
their defect, Of this quickly reformed coquette.
And this doctrine would meet with a
general resistance. Yet still, I must own, I should never have known
Had their prophet possess'd half an atom From your verses, what else she de
of sense, served;
He ne'er would have women from paraYour pain seem'd so great, I pitied your dise driven; fate,
Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, As your fair was so devilish reserved. With women alone he had peopled his
heaven. Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss
Yet still, to increase your calamities more, Can such wonderful transports produce; Not content with depriving your bodies Since the world you forget, when your
of spirit, lips once have met,'
He allots one poor husband to share amongst My counsel will get but abuse.
With souls you 'd dispense, but this last You say, when “I rove, I know nothing of who could bear it ?
love;' 'T is true, I am given to range:
His religion to please neither party is made; If I rightly remember, I've loved a good On husbands 't is hard, to the wives most number,
uncivil; Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change. Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been
said, I will not advance, by the rules of romance, • Though women are angels, yet wedTo humour a whimsical fair;
lock 's the devil.'
This terrible truth even Scripture has told, Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake
Though still they are sacred to freedom If a glimpse of redemption you wish to be
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy moun-
Round their white summits though ele
ments war; 'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd Though cataracts foam 'stead of smoothWith wives who eternal confusion are
flowing fountains, spreading;
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na *But in Heaven' (so runs the Evangelist's Garr.
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the
On chieftains long perish'd my memory
As daily I strode through the pine-covAnd wives, as in life, aim at absolute
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar Distraction and discord would follow in
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,
And rides on the wind, o'er his own
Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist
Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fa-
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch
Tell you that fate had forsaken your
Victory crown'd not your fall with ap-
Still were you happy in death's earthy
You rest with your clan in the caves of
The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud To trust a passing wanton's sigh, number,
And melt beneath a wanton's tear ! Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
Romance ! disgusted with deceit,
Far from thy motley court I fly,
And sickly Sensibility;
Whose silly tears can never flow Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you,
For any pangs excepting thine; Yet still are you dearer than Albion's
Who turns aside from real woe, plain.
To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. England ! thy beauties are tame and do
Now join with sable Sympathy, inestic To one who has roved on the mountains
With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds,
Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, afar: Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic !
Whose breast for every bosom bleeds;
And call thy sylvan female choir, The steep frowning glories of dark Loch
To mourn a swain for ever gone, na Garr !
Who once could glow with equal fire,
But bends not now before thy throne. TO ROMANCE
Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears PARENT of golden dreams, Romance !
On all occasions swiftly flow, Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
With fancied flames and phrensy glow; Thy votive train of girls and boys;
Say, will you mourn my absent name, At length, in spells no longer bound,
A postate from your gentle train ? I break the fetters of my youth;
An infant bard at least may claim No more I tread thy mystic round,
From you a sympathetic strain. But leave thy realms for those of Truth.
Adieu, fond race ! a long adieu !
The hour of fate is hovering nigh;
E'en now the gulf appears in view,
Where unlamented you must lie:
Oblivion’s blackening lake is seen,
Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; And all assume a varied hue;
Where you, and eke your gentle queen, When virgins seem no longer vain,
Alas I must perish altogether.
ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT And from thy hall of clouds descend ?
SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, But leave at once thy realms of air
COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DETo mingling bands of fairy elves;
SCRIPTIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY Confess that woman's false as fair,
DRAWN And friends have feeling for – themselves?
* But if any old lady, knight, priest, or physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition;
If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, With shame I own I've felt thy sway, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?' Repentant, now thy reign is o'er;
ANSTEY, New Bath Guide. No more thy precepts I obey,
CANDOUR compels me, BECHER ! to comNo more on fancied pinions soar.
mend Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye,
The verse which blends the censor with the And think that eye to truth was dear;
Your strong yet just reproof extorts ap- She would have fallen, though she ne'er had plause
read. From me, the heedless and imprudent For me, I fain would please the chosen
few, For this wild error which pervades my Whose souls, to feeling and to nature strain,
true, I sue for pardon, — must I sue in vain ? Will spare the childish verse, and not deThe wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways
The light effusions of a heedless boy. Can youth then hush the dictates of the I seek not glory from the senseless crowd; heart?
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud: Precepts of prudence curb, but can't con- Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely trol,
prize, The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. Their sneers or censures I alike despise. When Love's delirium haunts the glowing November 26, 1806.
mind, Limping Decorum lingers far behind: Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY chase.
* It is the voice of years that are gone! they The young, the old, have worn the chains
roll before me with all their deeds.' - Ossian. of love; Let those they ne'er confined my lay re
NEWSTEAD! fast-falling, once-resplendent prove:
dome! Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing Religion's shrine ! repentant Henry's power
pride! Their censures on the hapless victim shower. Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloisOh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid ter'd tomb, song,
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng,
glide, Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow,
Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy To paint a pang the author ne'er can
Than modern mansions in their pillar'd The artless Helicon I boast is youth; —
state; My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, truth.
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. Far be 't from me the 'virgin's mind' to "taint:'
No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord, Seduction's dread is here no slight re- In grim array the crimson cross destraint.
mand; The maid whose virgin breast is void of Or gay assemble round the festive board guile,
Their chief's retainers, an immortal Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile,
band: Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer,
Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not se- Retrace their progress through the lapse vere —
of time, She whom a conscious grace shall thus re- Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to fine
die, Will ne'er be 'tainted' by a strain of mine. A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime. But for the nymph whose premature desires
But not from thee, dark pile ! departs the Torment her bosom with unholy fires,
chief; No net to snare her willing heart is spread; His feudal realm in other regions lay: