From my eye flows no tear, from my lips fall no curses, I blast not the fiends, who have hurl'd me from bliss, For poor is the soul which bewailing rehea.r.s.es, Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this--

3.

Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning.

Would my lips breathe a flame, which no stream could a.s.suage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.

4.

But now tears and curses alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us, our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.

5.

Yet still though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer, Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.

6.

Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, Since in life, love and friendship, for ever are fled, If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested--the dead.

1805.

1.

When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe, For your lip, would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray, which can never deceive.

2.

Yet still, this fond bosom regrets whilst adoring, That love like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That age will come on, when remembrance deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear.

3.

That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining Their auburn, these locks must wave thin to the breeze.

When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay, and disease.

4.

'Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features Tho' I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree; Which G.o.d has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive me of thee.

5.

No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd, To rivet the fetters of husband and wife; By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd, To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life.

6.

But as death my belov'd, soon or late, shall o'ertake us, And our b.r.e.a.s.t.s which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low.

7.

Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from pa.s.sion like ours will unceasingly flow; Let us pa.s.s round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below.

1805.

ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL.

1806.

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection, Embitters the present, compar'd with the past; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last.

2.

Where fancy yet joys, to retrace the resemblance, Of comrades in friendship, and mischief allied; How welcome once more 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 tombstone I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.

5.

I once more view the room with spectators surrounded, Where as Zanga I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While to swell my young pride such applauses resounded, I fancied that MOSSOP[5] himself was outshone.

6.

Or as Lear I pour'd for the deep imprecation, By my daughters of kingdom and reason depriv'd: Till fir'd by loud plaudits, and self adulation, I consider'd myself as a _Garrick_ reviv'd.

7.

Ye dreams of my boyhood how much I regret you, As your memory beams through this agoniz'd breast, Thus sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you, Though this heart throbs to bursting by anguish possest.

8.

I thought this poor brain fever'd even to madness, Of tears as of reason forever was drain'd, But the drops which now flow down _this_ bosom of sadness, Convince me, the springs have some moisture retain'd.

9.

Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection, Has wrung from these eye-lids to weeping long dead, In torrents, the tears of my warmest affection, The last and the fondest, I ever shall shed.

[Footnote 5: MOSSOP, a cotempory of GARRICK, famous for his performance of _Zanga_, in YOUNG's tragedy of the _Revenge_.]