A SONNET
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
MYRA, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th’ approaching bridal night.
Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? 5
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
STANZAS
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH
OF GENERAL WOLFE
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 pleasures start.
O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe, 5
Sighing we pay, and think e’en conquest dear;
QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast 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: 10
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead—
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!
AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX,
MRS. MARY BLAIZE
GOOD people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam BLAIZE,
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass’d her door, 5
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond’rous winning, 10
And never follow’d wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumber’d in her pew,— 15
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow’d her,—
When she has walk’d before. 20
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore, 25
For Kent-street well may say,
That had she liv’d a twelve-month more,—
She had not died to-day.