ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF HIS DAUGHTER.
THIS is indeed to all a lovely morn:
But chief to thee, for on this day was born
Thy lovely daughter, lovelier with a mind-
O think I flatter not-how pure, refined!
Pure as the dreams of holiest saints, and mild
As the soft slumbers of an infant child.
Yet 'tis possess'd of wisdom, wit, and sense :
Her eyes beam forth that mind's intelligence.
Thy smiles paternal, faintly tell us now
What genuine raptures in thy bosom glow.
The fulness of delight is scarce exprest
By words; we only see that thou art blest.
IN IMITATION OF A GREAT POET
HAD I the wit of Newstead's noble bard,
I'd sacrifice it all, again to be
The child I was, when on that smooth
I drove my hoop along with mickle glee,
Or climb'd, with eager haste, yon cherry-tree.
Happy are they who need not e'er regret
The long-past days of careless infancy;
Whom friends have ne'er betray'd, nor knaves beset, Who never have been caught in woman's subtle net.
Of this enough, the storm has ceased to rage;
I live-but how, it matters not,—I live!—
"All, all is vanity "-thus spoke the sage:
Yet there remains one pleasure-'tis to give.
With some, 'tis pouring water through a sieve,
An endless folly, an excessive waste:
To feed their drones, these lordlings rob the hive; They waste their wealth on fools or dames unchaste; On gems, or jewels rare- these children "have a taste.”
DIVES had feasts at home, and many came
To see the strange inventions of the night;
Minstrels were in his halls, resembling flame-
The colour of their garments was as bright;
Ladies were clad in silk, all lily white:
While Burgundy, from golden goblets pour'd,
Freshen❜d the heart of man with new delight,
And boon companions gather'd round his board,
Pledging the frequent health of their all-liberal lord.
But what is DIVES now ?-a misanthrope—
A snarling cynic, basking in the sun :
O'ercharged with lust, he gave his passion scope;
A self-tormentor, now his course is run,
Mingling with fellow-men, yet loving none.
Divine Charissa calls on him in vain
"Though fools have robb'd thee, do not therefore shun
The sad retreat of penury and pain!"
Sullen he stalks apart, and eyes her with disdain.
"What wert thou born for, denizen of earth?
To laugh and grieve as suits thy wayward will?
Scoffer!-the soul will have a second birth :-
Awake the song-the sparkling goblet fill-
Drown, in thy wine, all thoughts of future ill.
There is another world!"- "Then be it so-
Of this already have I had my
"This will not save thee-this fantastic woe:
Thou knowest not, wretched man, where thou art doom'd to go!"
WRITTEN ON SEEING THE BODIES OF TWO BEAUTIFUL
WOMEN, CAST AWAY NEAR MILFORD.
A DREARY waste of snows around
O'er-spread the inhospitable ground;-
The storm-blast scarce had ceased to roar,
There lay two corpses on the shore.
Thou, pamper'd lecher, come and see
These shapes, so oft embraced by thee !—
What does it shame thee ?-look again—
These were once women, ay, and vain ;
Rock-bruised and mangled now, they seem
More horrid than a ghastly dream.
Now kiss their livid lips, and bless
Their fragrant stench, sweet rottenness.
The gay gold rings bemock their fingers,
Where not one trait of beauty lingers;
But, like the shrivell❜d star-fish, lie
Their hands in sand, all witheringly.
We start to see this loathsome clay,
Uncoffin'd, rotting fast away;
Yet, we can bear the noisome pest,
Vice, gathering, blackening in the breast.
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