Yes, Genius, thee a thousand cares await,
Mocking thy derided state;

Thee chill Adversity will still attend,

friend,

Before whose face flies fast the summer's
And leaves thee all forlorn;

[laughs,
While leaden Ignorance rears her head and
And fat Stupidity shakes his jolly sides,
And while the cup of affluence he quaffs
With bee-eyed Wisdom, Genius derides,
Who toils, and every hardship doth outbrave,
To gain the meed of praise, when he is moulder-
ing in his grave.

FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO THE MOON.
MILD orb, who floatest through the realm of night,
A pathless wanderer o'er a lonely wild,
Welcome to me thy soft and pensive light,

Which oft in childhood my lone thoughts beguiled;
Now doubly dear, as o'er my silent seat,
Nocturnal Study's still retreat,

It casts a mournful melancholy gleam,

And through my lofty casement weaves,
Dim through the vine's encircling leaves,
An intermingled beam.

These feverish dews that on my temples hang,
This quivering lip, these eyes of dying flame :
These the dread signs of many a secret pang,
These are the meed of him who pants for fame!
Pale Moon, from thoughts like these divert my soul;
Lowly I kneel before thy shrine on high;
My lamp expires;-Beneath thy mild control,
These restless dreams are ever wont to fly.

Come, kindred mourner, in my breast
Soothe these discordant tones to rest,
And breathe the soul of

Mild visitor, I feel thee here,

peace;

It is not pain that brings this tear,
For thou hast bid it cease.

Oh! many a year has pass'd away
Since I beneath thy fairy ray

Attuned my infant reed;

When wilt thou, Time, those days restore, Those happy moments now no more—

When on the lake's damp marge I lay,

And mark'd the northern meteor's dance,
Bland Hope and Fancy, ye were there
To inspirate my trance.

Twin sisters, faintly now ye deign
Your magic sweets on me to shed,
In vain your powers are now essay'd
To chase superior pain.

And art thou fled, thou welcome orb?
So swiftly pleasure flies;

So to mankind, in darkness lost,
The beam of ardour dies..

Wan Moon, thy nightly task is done,
And now, encurtain'd in the main,
Thou sinkest into rest;

But I, in vain, on thorny bed

Shall woo the god of soft repose—

FRAGMENT.

LOUD rage the winds without.-The wintry cloud
O'er the cold north star casts her flitting shroud;
And Silence, pausing in some snow-clad dale,
Starts, as she hears, by fits, the shrieking gale ;
Where now, shut out from every still retreat,
Her pine-clad summit, and her woodland seat,
Shall Meditation, in her saddest mood,
Retire, o'er all her pensive stores to brood?
Shivering and blue, the peasant eyes askance
The drifted fleeces that around him dance,
And hurries on his half-averted form,
Stemming the fury of the sidelong storm.
Him soon shall greet his snow-topt [cot of thatch],
Soon shall his numb'd hand tremble on the latch,
Soon from his chimney's nook the cheerful flame
Diffuse a genial warmth throughout his frame;
Round the light fire, while roars the north-wind loud,
What merry groups of vacant faces crowd;
These hail his coming-these his meal prepare,
And boast in all that cot no lurking care.
What, though the social circle be denied,
Even Sadness brightens at her own fire-side,
Loves, with fixed eye, to watch the fluttering blaze,
While musing Memory dwells on former days;
Or Hope, blest spirit! smiles-and, still forgiven,
Forgets the passport, while she points to heaven.
Then heap the fire-shut out the biting air,
And from its station wheel the easy chair:
Thus fenced and warm, in silent fit, 'tis sweet
To hear without the bitter tempest beat··

H

All, all alone to sit, and muse, and sigh,
The pensive tenant of obscurity,

FRAGMENT.

OH! thou most fatal of Pandora's train,
Consumption! silent cheater of the eye;
Thou com'st not robed in agonizing pain,
Nor mark'st thy course with Death's delusive dye;
But silent and unnoticed thou dost lie;
O'er life's soft springs thy venom dost diffuse,
And, while thou giv'st new lustre to the eye,
While o'er the cheek are spread health's ruddy hues,
Even then life's little rest thy cruel power subdues.

Oft I've beheld thee, in the glow of youth

Hid 'neath the blushing roses which there bloom'd, And dropp'd a tear, for then thy cankering tooth

I knew would never stay, till, all consumed, In the cold vault of death he were entomb'd. But oh what sorrow did I feel, as swift,

Through fair Lucina's breast of whitest snow,
Preparing swift her passage to the sky!
Though still intelligence beam'd in the glance,
The liquid lustre of her fine blue eye;
Yet soon did languid listlessness advance,
And soon she calmly sunk in death's repugnant trance.

Even when her end was swiftly drawing near,
And dissolution hover'd o'er her head;
Even then so beauteous did her form appear,
That none who saw her but admiring said,

Sure so much beauty never could be dead, Yet the dark lash of her expressive eye,

Bent lowly down upon the languid

*

SONNETS.

TO CAPEL LOFFT, ESQ.

LOFFT, unto thee one tributary song

The simple muse, admiring, fain would bring; She longs to lisp thee to the listening throng, And with thy name to bid the woodlands ring. Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth,

Thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild, Would say how thou didst foster kindred worth,

And to thy bosom snatch'd Misfortune's child; Firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal, Upright, and learned, as the Pylian sire,

Would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the lyre, And shew thy labours for the public weal:

Ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme,

But ah! she shrinks abash'd before the arduous theme.

TO THE MOON.

WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER.

SUBLIME, emerging from the misty verge
Of th' horizon dim, thee, Moon, I hail,
As, sweeping o'er the leafless grove, the gale
Seems to repeat the year's funereal dirge.