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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 drest→
For 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 delight-
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the ocean,
To howl thro' my cavern by night,

ON A CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE. 1796.

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.

ABSENCE.

A FAREWELL ODE.

WHERE grac'd with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,

I haste to urge the learned toil

That sternly chides my love-lorn song.
Ah me! too mindful of the days

Illum'd by Passion's orient rays,

When peace with cheerfulness, and health
Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.

Ah, fair delights! that o'er my soul

On mem'ry's wing, like shadows, fly!
Ah flowers! which Joy from Eden stole,
While Innocence stood smiling by!-

But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan,
Those hours, on rapid pinions flown,
Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd,
And scatter livelier roses round.

The Sun, who ne'er remits his fires,
On heedless eyes may pour the day:
The Moon, that oft from heav'n retires,
Endears her renovated ray.
What tho' she leave the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky west?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the wanderer of the night.

SONNET.

PENSIVE, at eve, on the hard world I mus'd,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the moon
I gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd-for, Ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd,
With tearful vacancy, the dampy grass,
Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray,
And I did pause me on my lonely way,
And mus'd me on those wretched ones,
O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas!
Most of myself I thought: when it befell,
That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear-" All this is very well;
But much of one thing is for no thing good."
Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!

who pass

TO SIMPLICITY.

O! I do love thee, meek simplicity!

For of thy lays the lulling simpleness

Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress-
Distress tho' small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true, on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet tho' I know not why,
So sad I am! but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general:
But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek simplicity.

ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY.

AND this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! There rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.

What tho' she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd:
And, aye, beside her, stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,

And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His inward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps, in fair fragments, the full-orb'd harvest moon.

TO MERCY.

Not always should the tear's ambrosial dew
Roll it's soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek!
Not always heav'n breath'd tones of suppliance meek,
Beseem thee, Mercy. Yon dark scowler view,
Who with proud words of dear-lov'd freedom came
More blasting than the mildew from the South,
And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth-
(Ah! foul apostate from his father's fame!)
Then fix'd her on the cross of deep distress,
And at safe distance marks the thirsty lance

Pierce her big side! But, oh! if some strange trance
The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd sister press,
Seize, Mercy, tho' more terrible the brand,
And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand.

TO KOSKIUSKO.

O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there;
As tho' a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd.
Ah me! they viewed beneath an hireling's sword
Fall'n Koskiusko! Thro' the burden'd air,
(As pauses the tir'd Copac's barb'rous yell
Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale

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