That on green plots o'er precipices browse:
From the deep fissures of the naked rock

The Yew tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs
(Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest :-and now have gained the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets

My gaze! Proud towers, and cots more dear to me,
Elm-shadow'd fields, and prospect-bounding sea!
Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear:
Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!

LINES

IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.

O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an olive tree,
I would, that from the pinions of thy dove
One quill withouten pain yplucked might be !
For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,

Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light,

But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight!

Last night as I my weary head did pillow

With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrost,

Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow,

As though my breast entombed a pining ghost.

"From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;

But leave me with the matin hour, at most!

As night-closed floweret to the orient ray,

My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."

But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whispered to himself, with malice fraught-
"Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen:
To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien !"

He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,

When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head

"Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said.

Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing

Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;

When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string,
With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart.
Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart?

Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance?
For straight so fair a Form did upwards start

(No fairer decked the bowers of old Romance)

That Sleep enamored grew, nor moved from his sweet trance!

My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;

Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:

I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!

Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme

Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,

IIe sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide

That I the living image of my dream,

Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd

"()' how shall I behold my Love at even-tide !"

IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.

THE stream with languid murmur creeps,

In Lumin's flowery vale :

Beneath the dew the Lily weeps

Slow-waving to the gale.

"Cease, restless gale! it seems to say,
Nor wake me with thy sighing!

The honors of my vernal day

On rapid wing are flying.

"To-morrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming :

His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.”

With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,

Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek
The Youth of simplest song.

But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;

And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,
In Slumber's nightly hour.

THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA.

How long will ye round me be swelling,
0
ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,

Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,

And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid!

A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest—
For lovely appear the departed

When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturbed by the tempest's commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight-
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
To howl through my cavern by night.

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim

In pity to your Lover!

That thrilling touch would aid the flame,

It wishes to discover.

TO AN INFANT.

АH! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!
I did but snatch away the unclasped knife:
Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish cry!
Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe,
Tutored by pain each source of pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing Miniature! thou mak'st me sigh-
A Babe art thou-and such a Thing am I !

To anger rapid and as soon appeased,

For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased,

Break Friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow,

Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow!

O thou that rearest with celestial aim

The future Seraph in my mortal frame,

Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet

As on I totter with unpractised feet,

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy!

LINES

WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL.

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Received from absent friend by way of Letter.
For what so sweet can labored lays impart

As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?—ANON

NOR travels my meandering eye
The starry wilderness on high;

Nor now with curious sight

I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,

Move with "green radiance" through the grass,
An emerald of light.

O ever present to my view!
My wafted spirit is with you,

And soothes your boding fears:
I see you all oppressed with gloom
Sit lonely in that cheerless room—
Ah me! You are in tears!

Beloved Woman! did you fly
Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye,
Or Mirth's untimely din?
With cruel weight these trifles press
A temper sore with tenderness,
When aches the Void within.

But why with sable wand unblest
Should Fancy rouse within my breast
Dim-visaged shapes of Dread?
Untenanting its beauteous clay
My Sara's soul has winged its way,
And hovers round my head!

I felt it prompt the tender dream,
When slowly sank the day's last gleam;
You roused each gentler sense,
As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom
Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume
With viewless influence.

And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans
Through yon reft house! O'er rolling stones
In bold ambitious sweep,

The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky

With mimic thunders deep.

Dark reddening from the channelled Isle*

(Where stands one solitary pile

*The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel.