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His love grew desperate ; and defying death,
'Tis a sweet tale
And what became of him ?
He went on ship-board,
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND; IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY
Away, those cloudy looks, that lab'ring sigh,
The peevish offspring of a sickly hour !
Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's pow'r, When the blind gamester throws a luckless die.
Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam
To-morrow shall the many colour'd main
Wild, as th’ Autumnal gust, the hand of Time
Flies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance
Th' alternate groups of joy and grief advance Responsive to his varying strains sublime !
Bears on its wing each hour a load of fate.
The swain, who, lull’d by Seine's mild murmurs, led
His weary oxen to their nightly shed, To-day may rule a tempest-troubled state.
Nor shall not Fortune, with a vengeful smile,
Survey the sanguinary despot's might,
And haply hurl the pageant from his height, Unwept, to wander in some savage isle.
There shiv'ring sad, beneath the tempest's frown,
Round his tir'd limbs to wrap the purple vest;
And mix'd with nails and beads, an equal jest! Barter for food, the jewels of his crown.
WRITTEN AFTER A WALK BEFORE SUPPER.
Tho' much averse, dear Jack, to flicker,
And let me add (to ward off strife)
COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA,
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue tumbling waves of the sea ? Not always in canes was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree. Thro' the high-sounding halls of Cathloma
In the steps of my beauty I stray'd ; The warriors beheld Ninathoma,
And they bless'd the white-bosom'd maid !
A ghost! by my cavern it darted !
In moon-beams the spirit was drestFor lonely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest! But disturb’d by the tempest's commotion,
Fleet the shadowy forms of delightAh cease, thou shrill blast of the ocean,
To howl thro' my cavern by night,
ON A CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE.
I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate;
But what shall sighs avail thee? Thy poor heart, 'Mid all the “pomp and circumstance" of state,
Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start
Sad recollections of hope's gairish dream,
That shaped a seraph form, and nam'd it Love; It's hues gay-varying, as the orient beam
Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.
To one soft accent of domestic joy,
Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; Those plaudits, that thy public path annoy,
Alas! they tell thee-Thou'rt a wretch at home!
O then retire, and weep! Their very woes
Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose,
Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring bud.
And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend,
To lure thy wanderer from the syren's power; Then bid your souls inseparably blend,
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.
A FAREWELL ODE.
WHERE grac'd with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
That sternly chides my love-lorn song.
When peace with cheerfulness, and health
Ah, fair delights ! that o'er my soul
On mem'ry's wing, like shadows, fly!