Now the lamp of hope is lighted,
Now half quench'd appears,

Damp'd, and wavering, and benighted,
Midst my sighs and tears.

Charms you call your dearest blessing,
Lips that thrill at your carressing,
Eyes a mutual soul confessing,

Soon you'll make them grow
Dim, and worthless your possessing,
Not with age, but woe!

SONG.

DRINK ye to her that each loves best,
And if you nurse a flame

That's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.

Enough, while memory tranced and glad
Paints silently the fair,

That each should dream of joys he's had,
Or yet may hope to share.

Yet far, far hence be jest or boast
From hallow'd thoughts so dear;
But drink to them that we love most,
As they would love to hear.

SONG.

WHEN Napoleon was flying
From the field of Waterloo,

A British soldier dying,

To his brother bade adieu!

"And take," he said, "this token,
To the maid that owns my faith,
With the words that I have spoken
In affection's latest breath."

Sore mourn'd the brother's heart,
When the youth beside him fell.
But the trumpet warn'd to part,
And they took a sad farewell.

There was many a friend to lose him,
For that gallant soldier sigh'd;

But the maiden of his bosom

Wept when all their tears were dried.

THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. O LEAVE this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below; Nor summer bud perfume the dew Of rosy blush or yellow hue; Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green;

And many a wintry wind have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour,
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made;
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground:
By all that Love has whisper'd here,
Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear;
As Love's own altar honour me,
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

SONG.

EARL March look'd on his dying child,
And smit with grief to view her-
The youth, he cried, whom I exiled,
Shall be restored to woo her.

She's at the window many an hour,
His coming to discover;

And her love look'd up to Ellen's bower,
And she look'd on her lover-

But ah! so pale, he knew her not,
Though her smile on him was dwelling.

And am I then forgot-forgot?

It broke the heart of Ellen.

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,
Her cheek is cold as ashes;

Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.

LOVE AND MADNESS.

AN ELEGY, WRITTEN IN 1795.

HARK! from the battlements of yonder tower* The solemn bell has toll'd the midnight hour! Roused from drear visions of distemper'd sleep, Poor B-k wakes-in solitude to weep!

"Cease, Memory, cease, (the friendless mourner cried)

To probe the bosom too severely tried!

Oh! ever cease, my pensive thoughts to stray Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day When youthful Hore, the music of the mind, Tuned all its charms, and E-n was kind!

"Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame,

In sighs to speak thy melancholy name?

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm!

In midnight shades I view thy passing form!
Pale as in that sad hour when doom'd to feel,
Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel!

"Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command I grasp'd the sword with more than woman's hand,

*Warwick Castle.

Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control,
Or horror damp, the purpose of my soul?
No! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan,
Till Hate fulfill'd what baffled Love began!
"Yes; let the clay-cold breast that never knew
One tender pang to generous Nature true,
Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn,
Condemn this heart that bled in love forlorn!

"And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness

warms,

Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms! Delighted idols of a gaudy train,

Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain, When the fond faithful heart, inspired to prove Friendship refined, the calm delight of love, Feels all its tender strings with anguish torn, And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn!

"Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed,

When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed?

Long had I watch'd thy dark foreboding brow,
What time thy bosom scorn'd its dearest vow!
Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed,
Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged,
Till, from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown,
I wander'd hopeless, friendless, and alone!

"Oh! righteous Heaven! 't was then my tortured soul

First gave to wrath unlimited control!

Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye!
The murmur'd plaint! the deep heart-heaving sigh!