Was the not all my fondeft with could frame ?|
Did ever mind fo much of heaven partake?
Did he not love me with the purest flame?

And give up friends and fortune for my fake?
Though mild as evening skies,
With downcaft, ftreaming eyes,
Stood the itern frown of fupercilious brows,
Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her

VOWS.

Come then, fome Mufe, the faddeft of the train
(No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays)
Teach me each moving melancholy ftrain,

And oh, difcard the pageantry of phrafe :
Ill fuit the flow'rs of speech with woes like mine!
Thus, haply, as I paint

The fource of my complaint,
My foul may own th' impaffion'd line:
A lood of tears may gush to my relief, [of grief.
And from my fwelling heart difcharge this load.
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear

But, ah ! in vain—no change of time or
The memory can efface [place
Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air,
Now loft; and nought remains but anguish and
despair.

Where were the delegates of Heav'n, oh where
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
Appointed Virtue's children fafe to keep?

She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep:
Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd,
To fee or force th' endearing fmile,
My forrows to beguile,

When Torture's keeneft rage the prov'd;
Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a hus-
bands' heart.

How fhall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
When, feeling Death's refiftless pow'r.
My hand the prefs'd, wet with her falling tears,
And thus, in falt'ring accents, fpoke her fears:
tell;" Ah, my lov'd lord, the tranfient scene is o'er,
"And we must part, alas! to meet no more!
"But oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear,
"If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd

To wound my ears with the fad tales you
"How good the was, how gentle, and how fair!'
In pity ceate-alas! I know too well
How in her fweet expreffive face

Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,

Of manners molt engaging, moft refin'd!
No piteous object could the fee,

But her foft bofom fhar'd the woe,
While fmiles of affability
Endear'd whatever boon the might bestow.
Whate'er th' emotions of her heart,

Still fhone confpicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to difguife:

And, oh the boaft how rare!
The fecret in her faithful breast repos'd
She never with lawlefs tongue difclos'd,

"ear;

"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
"Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune
"fmil'd in vain;

"If it has been my fole endeavour still
"To act in all obfequious to thy will;
"To watch thy very finiles, thy with to know,
"Then only truly bleft when thou wert lo;
"If I have doated with that fond excess,
"Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it lefs;
"If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind
"To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
"When time my once-lov'd memory fhall efface,
"Some happier maid may take thy Emma's
"place,

In secret filence lodg'd inviolate there.
Oh feeble words-unable to exprefs
Her matchless virtues, or my own diftrefs!
Relentless death! that, fteel'd to human woe,
With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man-"

kind.

"With envious eyes thy partial fondness fee,
"And hate it, for the love thou bor'ft to me:
My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears;
"But one word more-I cannot bear thy tears-
Promife-and I will trust thy faithful vow
"(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true)
"That to fome diftant fpot thou wilt remove

This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love,
"Where fafe thy blandifhments it may partake,
"And, oh! be tender, for its mother's fake.
"Wilt thou?--

Why (cruel!) ftrike this deprecated blow,
And leave fuch wretched multitudes behind?"
Hark! groans come wing'd on ev'ry breeze!
The fons of grief prefer their ardent vow,
Oppre's'd with forrow, want, or dire disease,
And fupplicate thy aid, as I do now:

"I know thou wiit-fad filence speaks affent; In vain perverfe, ftill on th' unwecting head" And, in that pleafing hope, thy Emma dies

'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to fhed;
Hope's ant bloffoms to deftroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.

But oh, fell tyrant! yet expe&t the hour
When Vinue thail renounce thy pow'r;
When thou no more fhall blot the face of day,
Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid fway.
Alas the day!-where'er I turn my eyes,
Some fad memento of my lofs appears;
I fy the fatal houfe-fuppreis my fighs,
Refolv'd to dry my unavailing tears:

66 content."

Vain

Vain hope-th' irrevocable doom is past,
Ev'n now the looks-fhe fighs her last-
Vainly I ftrive to ftay her fleeting breath,
And, with rebellious heart, protest against her
death.

Again with transport hear
Her voice foft whispering in my ear;
May steal once more a balmy kits,
And taste at least of vitionary bliss.
But,ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my fhadowy schemes of bliss depose,
Will tear the dear illufion from my fight,
And wake me to the fenfe of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I stray.

When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wish to tear her from the skies,
How curfe my fate in bitterness of woe!
But whither would this dreadful phrenfy Alas! what pleafures now can thefe convey
Fond man forbear,
[lead? Her lovely form purfues where'er I go,
Thy fruitless forrow fpare, [creed; And darkens all the fcene with woe.
Dare not to ask what Heaven's high will de- By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more,
In humble rev'rence kiss th' afflictive rod,
And proftrate bow to an offended God.
Perhaps kind heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some faving truth thy roving foul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views below,
And point out blifs beyond misfortune's
reach:

To fhew that all the flatt ring fchemes of joy,
Which tow'ring Hope fo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can deftroy,
And plunge th' exulting maniac in defpair.
Then, oh! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy prefent lofs-haply thy future gain;

Nor let thy Emma die in vain:
Time hall administer it: wonted balm, [calm.
And huth this form of grief to no unpleafing
Thus the poor bird, by fome difaftrous fate
Caught, and imprifon'd in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,
Flutters awhile, and fpends its little rage:
But finding all its efforts weak and vain,

No more it pants and rages for the plain;
Moping awhile, in fuilen mood

Droops the fweet mourner--but ere long Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food, And meditates the long:

Serenely forrowing, breathes its piteous cafe,
And with its plaintive warblings faddens all
the place.

Forgive me, Heaven,—yet, yet the tears will flow,
To think how foon my fcene of blifs is paft!
My budding joys, juit promifing to blow,
All nipp'd and wither'd by one envious blaft!
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
[long?
Where's nowthesprightly jeft,the jocund
Time creeps, unconscious of delight:
How fhall I cheat the tedious day;

And oh the joyiefs night!
Where thall I reft my weary head?
How fhall I find repofe on a fad widow'd bed?
Come Theban drug*, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace reitore;
Thy votary, wrapp'd in thy Lethean fhade,
Awhile thall ceafe his forrows to deplore:
Haply, when lock'd in ileep's embrace,
Again I fhall behold my Emma's face,

Sorrowing I rove

Through valley, grot, and grove; Nought can their beauties or my loss restore; And my fad fighs are borne on ev'ry passing No herb, no plant, can medicine my difeale,

breeze.

Sickness and forrow hov'ring round my bed,

Who now with anxious halte fhall bring relief,
With lenient hand fupport my drooping head,
Affuage my pains, and mitigate my griet?
Should worldly bufinefs call away,

Who now fhall in my abfence fondly mourn
Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should ought my bolom difcompose,

Who now, with fweet complacent air,
Shall fmooth the rugged brow of Care,

And foften all my woes?

Too faithful Memory-ceafe, oh cease-
How fhall I e'er regain my peace ?
(Oh, to forget her!)-but how vain each art,
Whilft ev'ry virtus lives imprinted on my heart!
And thou, my little cherub, left behind,

To hear a father's plaints, to fhare his woes,
When reafon's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy fweet lifping tonguefhallafkthecaufe,
How oft with forrow hall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace
Thy mother's fmile upon thy face!
How oft to my full heart thalt thou reftore
By bleffings once enjoy'd now more diftrefs'd,
Sad memory of my joy-ah, now no more!
More beggar by the riches once pofiefs'd,
My little darling!-dearer to me grown

By all the tears thou'ft caus'd-oh strange
Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
to hear!
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's biers
Who now fhall feek, with fond delight,
Thy infant steps to guide aright?
She, who with doating eyes would gaze
On all thy little artless ways,

By all thy foft endearments bleft,'
And clafp thee oft with transport to her breast,
Alas! is gone-yet fhilt thou prove
A father's deareft, tendereft love;"
And, O fweet fentelefs fmiler, (envied state!)
As yet unconfcious of thy haplels fate,
*Laudanum.

When

When years thy judgment shall mature,
And Reafon fhews thofe ills it cannot cure,

Wilt thou, a father's grief t' affuage,
For virtue prove the Phoenix of the earth
(Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth)
And be the comfort of my age?
When fick and languishing I lie,
Wilt thou my Emma's wonted care supply?
And oft as to thy liftening ear
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

Say wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilft on the mournful theme I dwell?
Then, fondly stealing to thy father's fide,

Whene'er thou feeft the foft distress,
Which I would vainly feek to hide,

Say, wilt thou ftrive to make it lefs?
To looth my forrows all thy cares employ.
And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy?

§ 105. An Evening Addrefs to a Nightingale.

SHAW.

Elfe why fo feelingly complain,

[grove?

And with thy piteous notes thus fadden all the
Say, dost thou mourn thy ravish'd mate,

That oft enamour'd on thy flrains has hung?
Or has the cruel hand of Fate

Bereft thee of thy darling young?

Alas! for both I weep:
In all the pride of youthful charms,
A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms!

A lovely babe, that should have liv'd to blefs,
And fill my doating eyes with frequent tears,
At once the fource of rapture and distress,
The flattering prop of my declining years!
In vain from death to refcue I effay'd,

By ev'ry art that fcience could devife;
Alas! it languifh'd for a mother's aid,
And wing'd its flight to feek her in the skies.
Then, oh! our comforts be the fame,
At evening's peaceful hour,

To thun the noify paths of wealth and fame,
And breathe our forrows in this lonely

bow'r.

But why, alas! to thee complain,
To thee unconfcious of my pain?
Soon fhalt thou cease to mourn thy lot severe,
And hail the dawning of a happier year:

The genial warmth of joy renewing fpring
Again fhall plume thy fhatter'd wing;
Again thy little heart fhall tranfport prove,

Again fhall flow thy notes refponfive to thy But, oh! for me in vain may feafons roll,[love. Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears: Deploring till the comfort of my soul,

I count my forrows by increasing years.

Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, fay,
Where is the promis'd period of my woes?
Full three long ling'ring years have roll'd away,
And yet I weep a stranger to repose:

O what delufion did thy tongue employ ! "That Emma's fatal pledge of love,

"Her laft bequest, with all a mother's care, "The bitterness of forrow should remove, "Soften the horrors of despair,

"And cheer a heart long loft to joy!” How oft, when fondling in my arms, Gazing enraptur'd on its angel-face,

My foul the maze of Fate would vainly trace,
And burn with all a father's fond-alarms!
And oh what flatt'ring fcenes had fancy feign'd!
How did I rave of bleffings yet in ftore!
Till ev'ry aching fenfe was fweetly pain'd,

And my full heart could bear, nor tongue
could utter more.

"Juft Heaven!" I cried, with recent hopes elate,
So long bow'd down beneath the ftormsof fate,
"Yet will Ilive-will live, tho'Emma's dead:
"Yet will I raife my woe-dejected head!
"My little Emma, now my all,

"Will want a father's care;

"Her looks, her wants, my rash resolves recall, "And, for her fake, the ills of life I'll bear: "And oft together we 'll complain,

"Complaint the only blifs my foul can know: "From me my child shall learn the mournful "strain,

"And prattle tales of woe.

"And, oh! in that aufpicious hour, "When Fate refigns her perfecuting pow'r, "With duteous zeal her hand fhall clole,

"No more to weep,my forrow-streaming eyes,
"When death gives mifery repofe,
Vain thought! it must not be-she too is dead,
"And opes a glorious paffage to the skies."
My hopes for ever, ever fled;
The flattering fcene is o'er;

Crush'd by misfortune, blafted by difeafe,
And vengeance can no more.
And none-none left to bear a friendly part!
To meditate my welfare, health, or ease,

Or footh the anguish of an aching heart!
Now all one gloomy fcene, till welcome death,
With lenient hand (oh falfely deem'd fevere),
Shall kindly ftop my grief-exhausted breath,
Perhaps, obfequious to my will,
And dry up ev'ry tear.

But, ah! from my affections far remov'd!
The laft fad office ftrangers may fulfil,
As if I ne'er had been belov'd;

As if unconscious of poetic fire,

I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre;
As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief,
Nor my heart melted at another's grief.
Yet, while this weary life fhall laft,
While yet my tongue can form th' impaffion'd
ftrain,

In piteous accents fhall the mufe complain,
And dwell with fond delay on bleffings paft:
For

For oh, how grateful to a wounded heart
The tale of mifery to impart!
From others' eyes bid artless forrows flow,
And raise esteem upon the base of woe!
Ev'n He*, the nobleft of the tuneful throng,
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the loft contagion of my song.
And pay my penfive Muse the tribute of a tear.

← 106. An Ode to Narciffa. SMOLLET. THY fatal thafts unerring move;

foul!

I bow before thine altar, Love!
I feel thy foft refiftlefs flame
Glide swift thro' all my vital frame!
For while I gaze my bofom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of transport whelm my
My fault ring tongue attempts in vain
In foothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue fome fecret magic ties,
My murmurs fink in broken fighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the filent tear;
Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!

of

Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The rage and rigour of a polar fky,
And plant fuccefsfully fweet Sharon's rofe
On icy plains, and in eternal fnows.
Oh, bleft within th' inclofure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide.
That fhew revers'd the villas on their fide;
No groves have ye; no cheerful found of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those that walk at ev'ning where you dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits abfolute on his unfhaken throne;
Piles up his ftores amidst the frozen waste,
And bids the mountains he has built ftand faft;
Beckons the legions of his storms away
From happier fcenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won,
And fcorns to share it with the distant fun.

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle ;
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fmile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the splendour of the true
A falfe religion-is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchfafes for our delight
The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the fkies

Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,

That fhoot into your darkest caves the day
From which our nicer optics turn away.

§109. On Slavery, and the Slave Trade. CowPER.
BUT, ah! what with can profper, or what

pray'r,

§107. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. SMOLLET.
WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams
Monimia, give my foul her wonted reft:
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my penfive breaft.
Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With feftive fongs beguile the fleeting hour,
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,
For merchants, rich in cargoes of despair,
Or prefs her wanton in love's rofeate bow'r.
Who drive a loath fome traffic, gage and fpan,
For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead, The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?
Where thepherds pipe and virgins dance around, All bonds of nature in that moment end;
Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant fhade, And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
To hear the music of the grove refound.
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
I'll feek fome lonely church, or dreary hall, The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue, Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Where damps hang mould ring on the ivy'd wall, Lofes in tears the far receding shore,
And theeted gholts drink up the midnight dew: But not the thought, that they must meet no
There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and def-Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, [more.
Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine: [pair,
Then, with a long farewel to love and care,
To kindred duft my weary limbs confign.
Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my forrows reft;
Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love fincere,
And bid the turf lie eafy on my breast?

Yes, to deep fadnefs fullenly refign'd,
What has he left that he can yet forego?
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh moft degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find fubmiffion more than half a cure;
Grief is itfelf a med'cine, and bestow'd
CowPER. T improve the fortitude that bears a load;
AND ftill it fpreads. See Germany fend forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
Her fons, to pour it on the fartheft north+: The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.

§108. The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland.

* Lord Lyttleton:

†The Moravian missionaries in Greenland; Vide Krantz.

But