Over the Grave of an old Friend,
WRITTEN IN OCTOBER, 1807.
Be hush'd ye winds that scatter wide
The faded glories of the year;
Serene, in Autumn's latest pride,
Thou evening sunbeam gently here.
And o'er this heap of mouldering clay
Affection's pious dews be shed;
His course well run, well clos'd his day,
Here peaceful rest his aged head!
The tears that tell a nation's woe,
When heroes fall, or monarch's die,
Are not so true as those that flow
To bless the graves where good men lie.
O ye of independent mind,
From pride and sordid passions free, Of spirit gentle, meek, resign'd,
Weep here for such a one was he! Ye whom misfortune, want, and pain, Thro' life's sad vale of tears attend; Who seek for pity, oft in vain,
Weep here for you have lost a friend.
A nobler soul did ne'er depart
From worldly strife to endless rest;
A worthier and a kinder heart
Ne'er glow'd within a Briton's breast.
Yet, called to meet the all-gracious Power,
Why weep that hence that soul was borne ?
The sunshine of his parting hour
Betoken'd his eternal morn.
FROM THE GREEK OF ALCÆUS OF MESSENÉ.
THE visionary dream of life is o'er,
The bard of Heroes sleeps on Ios' shore;
Fair los' sons their lamentations pay,
And wake the funeral dirge, or solemn lay.
O'er his pale lifeless corpse and drooping head
Nectarean sweets the weeping Nereid's shed,
And on the shore their slumbering favourite laid
Beneath the towering mountain's peaceful shade.
Nor undeserv'd their care.
His tuneful tongue
Achilles' wrath and Thetis' sorrows sung;
His strains Laertes' son in triumph bore,
Thro' woes unnumber'd, to his native shore.
Blest isle of los! on thy rocky steeps
The Muses' star, and Graces' offspring sleeps.
To my Friends, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Symmons, on the Anniversary of their Wedding Day.
WELL may the wretches who complain,
And clank the matrimonial chain,
Wish to oblivion to consign
The fated hour, when hands alone,
Not blending hearts, were join'd in one,
Pale victims at Ambition's shrine.
The torch of Hymen soon expires
Lighted at any other fires
Than those which feed the lamp of love:
Nor ever in her baleful hand
Erynnis shook a fiercer brand
Than such a spurious torch will prove.
But they who to the altar led,
Like you, from purest motives wed,
Ne'er blot this day with sorrow's tear:
Nor lours upon their haggard brows,
For broken or extorted vows,
Of much-offended Heaven the conscious fear.
Bless'd pair, whom, side by side,
No jarring interests divide;
No painful shackles gall or bind,
But wreaths like those with which the loves
Yoke to their mother's car the doves
United only, not confin'd.
Around your happy pillow glows,
Without a thorn, Love's blushing rose,
Which, pluck'd, has not a power to wound;
Not yours that unsubstantial joy
Which will, if only tasted, cloy;
For love, by chaste desire is crown'd.
PRITHEE, Sweet fair one, why so coy,
Hence with that frown of cold disdain,
Beauty like thine was form'd for joy,
And mirth and gentleness should fill thy train,
Let meaner beauties study to give pain,
"Tis nobler far to build than to destroy.
Tune then thy heart to gentle love,
With smiles my fondest vows receive,
Each anxious care shall far remove,
To love and mutual joys alone we'll live, Joys only heav'nly charms like thine can give, Joys only constant hearts like mine can prove.
my moniesh I make cent per cent,
And can cheat in the way of my
trade;
But alas! I can ne'er be content,
For the love of a fair Christian maid.
She is brighter than silver or gold,
She is fairer than any Bank note; When first I her charms did behold, My moniesh I almost forgot.
Since without her I scarcely can live,
If she would but consent to my wish
Every thing in this world I would give
Excepting mine own propertiesh.
What though I can tell the d-d lies,
For raising the price of the stocks;
With disdain my embraces she flies,
And my passion she scornfully mocks.
Alas! there's no end to my woe;
I'll haste from the world in despair ;
No; now I think better, I'll go,
To 'Change Alley, to end all my care.
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