STANZAS ON WOMAN
When lovely Woman stoops to folly,
And finds, too late, that men betray—
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom—is, to die.
TRANSLATION
FROM SCARRÒN.
Thus, when soft Love subdues the heart,
With smiling hopes and chilling fears,
The soul rejects the aid of art,
And speaks in moments more than years.
STANZAS
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC
SEPTEMBER 13, 1759.
Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe
Sighing we pay, and think e’en conquest dear;
Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead,
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
EPITAPH
ON EDWARD PURDON.[42]
Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a booksellers’ hack;
He led such a damnable life in this world,
I don’t think he’ll wish to come back.