of virtuous woe!
TO MISS BRUNTON
WITH THE PRECEDING TRANSLATION
That darling of the Tragic Muse,
When Wrangham sung her praise,
Thalia lost her rosy hues,
And sicken’d at her lays:
But transient was th’ unwonted sigh; 5
For soon the Goddess spied
A sister-form of mirthful eye,
And danc’d for joy and cried:
‘Meek Pity’s sweetest child, proud dame,
The fates have given to you! 10
Still bid your Poet boast her name;
I have my Brunton too.’
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT
Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care:
The opening Bud to Heaven convey’d,
And bade it blossom there.
PANTISOCRACY
No more my visionary soul shall dwell
On joys that were; no more endure to weigh
The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Wisely forgetful! O’er the ocean swell
Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottag’d dell 5
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray,
And dancing to the moonlight roundelay,
The wizard Passions weave an holy spell.
Eyes that have ach’d with Sorrow! Ye shall weep
Tears of doubt-mingled joy, like theirs who start 10
From Precipices of distemper’d sleep,
On which the fierce-eyed Fiends their revels keep,
And see the rising Sun, and feel it dart
New rays of pleasance trembling to the heart.
ON THE PROSPECT OF ESTABLISHING A PANTISOCRACY IN AMERICA
Whilst pale Anxiety, corrosive Care,
The tear of Woe, the gloom of sad Despair,
And deepen’d Anguish generous bosoms rend; —
Whilst patriot souls their country’s fate lament;
Whilst mad with rage demoniac, foul intent, 5
Embattled legions Despots vainly send
To arrest the immortal mind’s expanding ray
Of everlasting Truth; — I other climes
Where dawns, with hope serene, a brighter day
Than e’er saw Albion in her happiest times, 10
With mental eye exulting now explore,
And soon with kindred minds shall haste to enjoy
(Free from the ills which here our peace destroy)
Content and Bliss on Transatlantic shore.
ELEGY IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE’S BLANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS
Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persuading sound,
Where ‘sleeps the moonlight’ on yon verdant bed —
O humbly press that consecrated ground!
For there does Edmund rest, the learnéd swain! 5
And there his spirit most delights to rove:
Young Edmund! fam’d for each harmonious strain,
And the sore wounds of ill-requited Love.
Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,
And loads the West-wind with its soft perfume, 10
His manhood blossom’d; till the faithless pride
Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.
But soon did righteous Heaven her Guilt pursue!
Where’er with wilder’d step she wander’d pale,
Still Edmund’s image rose to blast her view, 15
Still Edmund’s voice accus’d her in each gale.
With keen regret, and conscious Guilt’s alarms,
Amid the pomp of Affluence she pined;
Nor all that lur’d her faith from Edmund’s arms
Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind. 20
Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
Some tearful Maid perchance, or blooming Youth,
May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.
THE FADED FLOWER
Ungrateful he, who pluck’d thee from thy stalk,
Poor faded flow’ret! on his careless way;
Inhal’d awhile thy odours on his walk,
Then onward pass’d and left thee to decay.
Ah! melancholy emblem! had I seen 5
Thy modest beauties dew’d with Evening’s gem,
I had not rudely cropp’d thy parent stem,
But left thee, blushing, ‘mid the enliven’d green
And now I bend me o’er thy wither’d bloom,
And drop the tear — as Fancy, at my side, 10
Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra’s tomb —
‘Like thine, sad Flower, was that poor wanderer’s pride!
Oh! lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish
