Poetic Sketches Part 6

_SONG_.

THE RECALL OF THE HERO.

When discord blew her fell alarm On Gallia's blood-stain'd ground; When usurpation's giant arm Enslav'd the nations round: The thunders of avenging heaven To Nelson's chosen hand were given; By Nelson's chosen hand were hurl'd To rescue the devoted world!

The tyrant pow'r, his vengeance dread, To Egypt's sh.o.r.es pursued; At Trafalgar its hydra-head For ever sunk subdued.

The freedom of mankind was won!

The hero's glorious task was done!

When heaven, oppression's ensigns furl'd, Recall'd him from the rescued world.

LINES,

WRITTEN ON SEEING THE CHILDREN OF THE NAVAL ASYLUM.[*]

Sons of Renown! ye heirs of matchless fame, Whose Sires in Glory's path victorious fell; Adding new honors to the British name, That future ages shall with transport tell.

Yet not unpity'd nor forgot they die, For gen'rous Britons to their mem'ry raise; A tribute will their children's wants supply, A living monument of grateful praise.

To the sad mother, who, in speechless grief, Mourn'd o'er her infant's unprotected state, Benignant charity affords relief, And bids her bosom glow, with joy elate.

Great your reward who thus impa.s.sion'd move, By nature taught the heart's persuasive play; Such deeds your G.o.d with pleasure shall approve, And endless blessings cheer your parting day.

What better boon can feeling hearts bestow, What n.o.bler ornament can deck our isle; Than one that robs the wretched of their woe, And makes the widow and the orphan smile?

[*Footnote: A Society, established by Voluntary Contributions, for the Support and Education of the Children of the Sailors and Marines, who have fallen during the War.]

ROSA'S GRAVE.

Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies, And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed, When dew-drops leave the weeping skies, His tenderest tear of pity shed.

And sacred shall the willow be, That shades the spot where virtue sleeps; And mournful memory weep to see The hallow'd watch affection keeps.

Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease; Soon from his woes the suff'rer part, And hail thee at the Throne of Peace!

LINES,

WRITTEN IN HORNSEY WOOD.

Oh, ye! who pine, in London smoke immur'd, With spirits wearied, and with pains uncur'd, With all the catalogue of city evils, Colds, asthmas, rheumatisms, coughs, blue-devils!

Who bid each bold empiric roll in wealth, Who drains your fortunes while he saps your health, So well ye love your dirty streets and lanes, Ye court your ailments and embrace your pains.

And scarce ye know, so little have ye seen, If corn be yellow, or if gra.s.s be green; Why leave ye not your smoke-obstructed holes With wholesome air to cheer your sickly souls?

In scenes where health's bright G.o.ddess 'wakes the breeze, Floats on the stream, and fans the whisp'ring trees, Soon would the brighten'd eye her influence speak, And her full roses flush the faded cheek.

Then, where romantic Hornsey courts the eye With all the charms of sylvan scenery.

Let the pale sons of diligence repair, And pause, like me, from sedentary care; Here, the rich landscape spreads profusely wide, And here, embowering shades the prospect hide;

Each mazy walk in wild meanders moves, And infant oaks, luxuriant, grace the groves: Oaks! that by time matur'd, remov'd afar, Shall ride triumphant, 'midst the wat'ry war; Shall blast the bulwarks of Britannia's foes, And claim her empire, wide as ocean flows!

O'er all the scene, mellifluous and bland, The blissful powers of harmony expand; Soft sigh the zephyrs 'mid the still retreats, And steal from Flora's lips ambrosial sweets; Their notes of love the feather'd songsters sing, And Cupid peeps behind the vest of Spring.

Ye swains! who ne'er obtain'd with all your sighs, One tender look from Chloe's sparkling eyes, In shades like these her cruelty a.s.sail, Here, whisper soft your amatory tale; The scene to sympathy the maid shall move, And smiles propitious, crown your slighted love.

While the fresh air with fragrance, Summer fills, And lifts her voice, heard jocund o'er the hills All jubilant, the waving woods display Her gorgeous gifts, magnificently gay!

The wond'ring eye beholds these waving woods Reflected bright in artificial floods, And still, the tufts of cl.u.s.t'ring shrubs between, Like pa.s.sing sprites, the nymphs and swains are seen; 'Till fancy triumphs in th'exulting breast, And care shrinks back, astonish'd! dispossess'd!

For all breathes rapture, all enchantment seems, Like fairy visions, and poetic dreams!

Tho' on such scenes the fancy loves to dwell, The stomach oft a different tale will tell; Then, leave the wood, and seek the shelt'ring roof, And put the pantry's vital strength to proof; The aerial banquets of the tuneful nine, May suit some appet.i.tes, but faith! not mine; For my coa.r.s.e palate, coa.r.s.er food must please, Substantial beef, pies, puddings, ducks, and pease; Such food, the fangs of keen disease defies, And such rare feeding Hornsey House supplies: Nor these alone, the joys that court us here, Wine! generous wine! that drowns corroding care, a.s.serts its empire in the glittering bowl, And pours promethean vigor o'er the soul.

Here, too, _that_ bluff John Bull, whose blood boils high At such base wares of foreign luxury; Who scorns to revel in imported cheer, Who prides in perry, and exults in beer: On these his surly virtue shall regale, With quickening cyder, and with fattening ale.

Nor think, ye Fair! our Hornsey has denied, The elegant repasts where you preside: Here, may the heart rejoice, expanding free In all the social luxury of Tea!

Whose essence pure, inspires such charming chat, With nods, and winks, and whispers, and _all that_.

Here, then, while 'rapt, inspir'd, like Horace old, We chaunt convivial hymns to Bacchus bold; Or heave the incense of unconscious sighs, To catch the grace that beams from beauty's eyes; Or, in the winding wilds sequester'd deep, Th'unwilling Muse invoking, fall asleep; Or cursing her, and her ungranted smiles, Chase b.u.t.terflies along the echoing aisles: Howe'er employ'd, _here_ be the town forgot, Where fogs, and smokes, and jostling crowds _are not_.

_SONNET_.

TO ............

Thou bud of early promise, may the rose Which time, methinks, will rear in envied bloom, By friendship nurs'd, its grateful sweets disclose, Nor e'er be nipt in life's disast'rous gloom.

For much thou ow'st to him whose studious mind Rear'd thy young years, and all thy wants supplied; Whose every precept breath'd affection kind, And to the friend's, a father's love allied.

Oh! how 'twill glad him in life's evening day, To see that mind, parental care adorn'd, With grateful love the debt immense repay, And realize each hope affection form'd.

The deed be thine--'twill many a care a.s.suage, Exalt thy worth, and blunt the thorns of age.

THE COMPLAINT