Shivering, the grisly phantom glides along,
And midnight spectres howl the funeral song:
Cold is the tongue that stole my list'ning soul,
And bade the hast'ning suns too swiftly roll;
Fix'd is the eye that passion taught to move,
With all the silent eloquence of love;
Pale is the cheek where bloom'd the living rose,
From his gor'd breast the purple torrent flows:
Tyrant! thou might'st have spar'd his guiltless head,
"Twas I profan'd the violated bed:
-Yet would I rather press these lips so cold,
Kiss his pale cheek-his bloody corse enfold,
Clasp the cold heart, in happier days I press'd,
That throbb'd responsive to my heaving breaft, 310
Than proudly tread in Pleasure's flow'ry maze,
While humbler beauties envy as they gaze.
-Fell tyrant! but when all in silence lies,
Stern Conscience bids her tort'ring fiends arise,
See on his thorny couch the murd'rer thrown- 315
He starts-and hark! that agonizing groan-
In broken dreams his troubl'd spirits reel :
He grimly grasps the visionary steel.
-The restless casement flaps-bleak howls the blast-
His troubled slumbers fly-he starts aghast
Convulsive pangs his glaring eyeballs strain-
But all is hush'd-he turns to sleep again-
Again the blast returns with hollow sigh-
Again he starts-again his slumbers fly-
List'ning he hears a cautious whisper creep;
He leaves his harden'd couch-and flies from sleep—
Shudd'ring he grasps his sword-he fears to breathe→ But all is silent as the realms of death.
Hence, vain illusions! fly this burning brainThough Mirth must ne'er illume these eyes again, 330
Let dreams less dark my ranging soul employ,
And let me snatch a melancholy joy.
Whisper that EDWARD lives-Bring balmy rest;
Bring peace-so long a stranger to my breast;
O could I clasp once more his angel form,
Without one sigh I'd meet th' o'erwhelming storm ;
Hang on his neck-invoke th' avenging fire,
And in an extacy of love expire.
Lov'd youth! if still in this dim orb you dwell,
Accept your poor MATILDA's last farewell.
Receive- -for Death now shakes the fatal dart,
This last sad homage of a broken heart.
-My dying breath shall own my earliest flame,
And my
last sigh shall mix with EDWARD's name.
"I LOVE the Poets," young Narcissa said:
Quoth I, "The Poets always lov'd the Misses:"
"Give me some verses then," rejoin'd the maid⚫
"I will (said I) :-give me as many kisses."
She smil'd consent-I kiss'd the lovely maid,
And, warm with bliss, repeat a glowing line;
She smil'd again, and I repeat the bliss,
And to my first I add a second line;
Then said-The bee from sweetest flow'rets sips,
And hence so sweet the honey of the bee;
And lines inhal'd from those nectareous lips,
Made of thy kisses, must be worthy thee.
'Tis noon, and the cool-breathing zephyr is fled,
And the dew-drop no longer besprinkles the thorn;
I fly from the sun-beam that scorches my head,
And sigh when I think on the beauties of morn.
For oh! vanish'd morn, as I feel thee depart,
I know that life's loveliest season is o'er;
Like thy shades each soft vision is quitting my heart,
And I know that these visions shall glad it no more!
Yet why should I mourn? On my opening mind
Thought early intruded her lessons severe;
E'en in childhood I ponder'd the precepts unkind,
And mingled the revels of youth with a tear!
Sport on then, ye triflers-enjoy the gay beam,
Nor remember the shadows of ev'ning must fall,
When its splendours shall perish, like yesterday's
dream,
And silence and night shall envelope ye all.
For me, as the pageant glides by, I can smile,
Since few are the pleasures Time pilfers from me,
And Hope of its terrors my breast shall beguile,
As I welcome the sentence that bids me be free!
A PITIFUL BALLAD,
OF ENGLISH DEFEATS AND FRENCH VICTORIES.
Showing how Englishmen ought to stand still and suffer themselves to be beaten, after the example of their forefathers.
WOULD you hear what deeds of wonder
Once by British Arms were done;
How the British Sons of Thunder
Made the Gallic squadrons run;
Deeds I sing renown'd in story;
Listen, every Briton's Son,
Hark to your forefathers' glory,
And match it, match it with your own.
EDWARD* first his English Bowmen
Pour'd upon the plains of France;
Full twice sixty thousand Foemen
'Gainst him rais'd the Gallic lance.
Five to one the Frenchmen vaunted,
To one Briton five Mounseers ;-
But by that was EDWARD daunted?
Cressy, say; and say, Poictiers.
Cressy saw him single-handed
Make the nimble Frenchmen fly,
With half his troops against them banded,
While the other half stood laughing by.
When proudly summon'd to surrender
Poictiers saw him bold advance,
Hurl back defiance on the sender,
And captive lead the Crown of France.
Rival of EDWARD'S fame and power,
Next young HARRY * show'd them sport;
Long did Frenchmen rue the hour,
When they met at Agincourt.
Tho' Dukes and Counts and Princes muster'd 'Gainst our troops with sickness worn;
Tho' the vaunting Dauphin bluster'd,
And our HARRY laugh'd to scorn;
Soon his threats and mockery fail him,
Soon his lofty spirit slacks,
Nor Princes, Dukes, and Counts avail him, 'Gainst the English battle-axe.
Of his vaunting Nobles plenty
Are by English force down borne ;
But not of Englishmen twice twenty
Perish'd on that glorious Morn.
But when many an age succeeding
Now had changed the face of fight,
Yet still they saw our Foemen bleeding,
And still they saw our conquering might.
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