Oh pause thou there, this awful lesson learn,
“That dust thou art, to dust shalt thou return.”
Now from the heav’ns, the queen of twilight grey,
Mellows each object with her silvery ray.
’Tis silence all!—’tis that lone pensive hour,
When Fancy reigns in all her magic pow’r,
When o’er the poet’s lull’d, enraptur’d soul,
She holds her sweet, her undefin’d control!20

K . . . ., how chang’d from those old feudal hours,
When minstrel’s music echoed through thy tow’rs;
When steel-clad knights rode forth in glorious pride,
And led their troops to combat by their side.
Or at their castles tournaments proclaim,
And enter lists, to gain the wreath of fame.
From beauty’s hand receive the valued meed,
While plauding shouts approve the martial deed.
And when the gath’ring shades of eve would call
Our great forefathers to the festive hall,30
There, in vast bowls, the grape’s rich liquor pour’d,
And wholesome viands smok’d along the board;
Such as were wont an hero’s hall to grace,
Ere yet, refinement reach’d our hardy race;—
Ere yet, we learn’d, from nations we subdued,
To spurn at Freedom’s hospitable food.
To every lip the joyous toast went round,
And frolic laughter gambol’d o’er the ground;
While from the lofty gallery swell’d the lays,
Of some past deed of old heroic days;40
Perhaps of Britain’s sable chief, who bore
His conq’ring standard to the Gallic shore.
Perhaps of R . . . . .[9], gallant knight! who led
His country’s warriors to his country’s aid!
Perhaps they sung the softest, brightest fire,
That ever yet has burst from minstrel’s lyre.
Almighty love, whose sigh-inflated sail
Wafts, more than bliss, on ev’ry halcyon gale.
How warlike Henry[10] joy’d to lay aside
The glare of rank, the pageantry of pride:50
At beauty’s feet, he cast his regal pow’r,
And sought for smiles at Rosamond’s lov’d bow’r:
Ah! hapless Rosamond, condemn’d to prove
The penalty, that waits on lawless love!
But now, “the bashful virgin’s sidelong” glance
Delights her partner in the mazy dance.
And he, who foremost in the lists that day,
Bore the rich prize of martial fame away;—
Whose crest shone proudest of the youthful band,
With joy, receives the fairest lady’s hand.60
The old look on, and seem again to share
In each light movement of the graceful pair;
Or talk of deeds long done, of years gone by;
Of many an ancient feat of chivalry.
While each proud banner, won in glory’s cause,
The spoils of conquest, seem’d to wave applause.
See, in yon nook, retir’d, the love-sick youth
Pays his fond vows of ever-lasting truth;
While the soft maiden’s blushing looks reveal
A tale so dear, that love alone can feel!70

K . . . ., ere yet the hand of taste around,
Display’d the charms with which thy scenes are crown’d,
The drooping dryads of thy proud domain,
Of cold neglect, proclaim’d the ruin’d reign.
Thy falling fabric seem’d in vain to moan,
Its glories tarnish’d, and its beauties gone:
The weed’s rank verdure overspread the hearth,
So late the scene of hospitable mirth;—
The moss’s velvet, and the violet’s blue,
In wild luxuriance o’er the pavements grew;—80
Here bloom’d each flowret which the fields impart,
The charms of Nature o’er the wrecks of art.
Then, then, arose the last of all her race,
To join each pow’r, her native house to grace;—
Again to raise the beauties of thy pile,
With added lustre, make her K . . . . smile;—
Again thy halls, the graceful dance shall bear,
And heav’nly music charm the thrilling ear;—
Again thy doors shall open to receive
The lordly noble, and the poor relieve;—90
Again shall taste and elegance impart
Each varied scene, to charm the captive heart.

Mayst thou, the lov’d possessor, find repaid,
By Friendship’s smile, the works thy hand has made;
And mayst thou long live happy, to retrace
The faded honours of thy ancient race;
May virtue still her fairest flow’rs entwine,
To form a wreath to grace the . . . . . line.

ON FRIENDSHIP.

Written at Fourteen Years Old.

Hail, star of love, hail, offspring of the skies!
That gilds our day, when darken’d storms arise;—
’Tis thou that blunts affliction’s bitter dart,
And turns the wound, averted from the heart.
In all the changes that await mankind,
In all the woes we here are doom’d to find,—
Thy hand, amid a world of care and strife,
Scatters fresh roses o’er the paths of life.
’Tis not the fawning flatt’rer’s ready praise,
Whose word is honey, but whose word betrays.10
For, ah! while happiness yet gilds each hour,
Ere yet adversity’s dark tempests low’r,
Like flies in summer, basking in the ray
Of prosp’rous sunshine, in thy golden day:
Many thy followers, who pollute the name,
With sordid lips, of hallow’d Friendship’s flame:
But if thy sun, by gath’ring clouds o’erspread,
Retract its beams—those followers all are fled,—
Not one remains of that late num’rous horde,19
Who swore thee friendship, round thy genial board.
From scenes like this, with stern indignant eye,
True Friendship wings her rapid flight:—on high
She views the venal slaves of guilt and gold,
Purchas’d by int’rest, and by int’rest sold;
Whom dark Dishonour, by the Stygian shore,
An hideous progeny, to Mammon bore;
Hypocrisy receiv’d them at their birth,
And, nurs’d by her, they issued into earth.

Friendship’s soft pow’r, mild as the vernal gale
That floats at eve o’er Tempè’s peaceful vale;30
Holds her vast rule, unbounded by control,
O’er the wide realms of the capacious soul;
And spurns the limits of the little mind,
To narrow thoughts, and mean ideas confin’d.
For he, alone, can taste her purest streams—
He, he, alone, can feel her warmest beams,
Whose breast ennobled, and whose soul refin’d,
Display the treasures of an heav’n-taught mind;
Enrich’d with every virtue, that can lend
Her pow’rful aid, to form a perfect friend;40
Proud in the pride which dignifies the heart,
That scorns deceit, and spurns each baser art;
In whose high front, and spirit-rousing eye,
Bright honour beams in all her majesty;—
Sublimely humble, virtuously bold,
Unmov’d by flatt’ry, and unbrib’d by gold.
Vot’ries like this, can feel her pow’r sublime,
Begun by virtue, and matur’d by time;—
Vot’ries like this, once reverenced her laws,
And prov’d them worthy of so great a cause.50

Oh! ye twin stars[11], who grace the spangled sphere,
When night’s dark shadows o’er the heav’ns appear;
And ye, bright patterns of her sacred reign[12],
Who bound the tyrant in her silver chain!
And thou, O Salem’s king[13], whose heav’n-taught lyre,
In sacred strains, Jehovah deign’d t’ inspire;
And all ye ancient vot’ries of her name,
Be ye the mighty witness of the same!

Ah! now how changed!—for scarce one ling’ring trace
Proves us descendants of our former race;60
All things degen’rate! e’en the present times
Shall seem ennobled, by our future crimes.
True Friendship, now, appears but as a dream,—
Th’ historian’s subject, or the muse’s theme.
Long might we search, and long might search in vain,
Him, who, to save his friend a moment’s pain,
Would set the world and all its charms, at nought;
And think, e’en life was far too dearly bought.
What venal lips now utter Friendship’s name,
And strive to counterfeit her heav’nly flame;70
How few the souls, o’er whom she deigns to reign;
And, ah! how few would bear her silver chain!
For her swift wing, like Love’s, disdains all ties,
O’er boundless seas and trackless deserts flies;
And scorns those barriers, which th’ ignoble prize.