"His truth I deem'd so great, my foolish heart "The voice of heav'n alone could then have mov'd "As well the torments, as delights of love. 66 My lover feign'd that he must leave his home, "Constrain'd by fate, in foreign realms to roam: "You need not ask what terrors seiz'd my heart, "But guess those feelings words can ne'er impart : "Alas! the sport of cruel destiny, "I felt the pangs of death, though yet forbid to die. "At length, one fatal day he took his leave; "While I, who heard him speak, and saw him grieve "At his departure, thought his tears as true "As those which almost chok'd my last adieu! "But since his honour summon'd him away, "And Reason told me, that he must obey "Her potent call; that sorrow was in vain, "And he wou'd soon review his home again; "I strove my swelling anguish to conceal, "And feign'd a courage which I did not feel, "And fondly press'd his hand, repeating o'er "Those vows of truth I oft had sworn before. "What he reply'd I shall not now rehearse; "In speech none better, or in action worse. "So forth he flew, and hasten'd on his way, "Till weariness, or pleasure, bade him stay "His rapid course; for sure he bore in mind, "The proverb, every creature loves its kind.' "Thus men have written, men too prone to range, "And vary merely for the love of change. "As silly birds, with care in cages bred, Lodg'd on soft down, with choicest viands fed, "Which seem your proffer'd kindness to disdain, "While sugar, bread, and milk, allure in vain; "If they by chance espy an open door, "O'erturn their cup upon the sanded floor, "Leave their warm cage, and hasten to the wood, "To feed on worms, and such like homely food; "And pleas'd with change of fare, delighted roam, Forgetful of their breeding and their home; "E'en so this falcon, though of gentle kind, "In manner graceful, and in sense refin'd; "Debas'd by vice, forsakes my nest, to share "His love among the commoners of air; "And now a hateful kite his fancy charms, "And for her loath'd embrace he slights these arms; "His plighted faith-his love from me is flown, "And I am left to weep, and die alone." With that, again she rais'd her mournful cries, Again she swooning fell, and clos'd her streaming eyes. The mournful damsels gath'ring round, survey'd The palace gate; prepar'd to plaister o'er O'ercame two brethren, who in arms had strove } LINES Addressed to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, Putron of the Literary Fund. BY CHARLES MARSH, ESQ. RECITED AT THE MEETING OF THE S (IETY AT GREENWICH, JUNE 21, 1804. GAY child of ease! on whose protected head Where Want and Care with starving Genius dwell! From his fixt eye no gushing tear-drops start; Say, hast thou wept when to thy musing eye And hast thou mourn'd, when sunk and fall'n around The broken arch ignobly strew'd the ground; Yet shall thy heart no gentle sorrow find The aspiring soul, by Want's cold hand destroy'd, Nurs'd by the Muse, who rock'd him to repose, And sweetly sang to rest his cradled woes, As with a mother's pride she lov'd to trace The opening blossom of the promis'd grace; And o'er his couch with wrapt attention hung, These sweet presagings trembled from her tongue: "From every dross of vulgar joy refined, "The Muse to rich delights hath rear'd thy mind! "Unlock'd for thee behold the sacred mines "Where dipt in heaven the gem of Fancy shines; "Go let thy wandering eyes the scenes explore "Where Nature spreads for man her boundless store ; "Range o'er the circle, where with cheerful hue "The green earth bursts rejoicing on thy view; "Fresh blooming fields where the soft Zephyr flings "A balmy incense from his dewy wings; "The hoary head-land's dim retired height, "The distant promontory's fading light; "The last pale beam, when Nature sinks to rest, "That slowly lingers on the ocean's breast. "While to thy vision Fancy's art supplies "A world of tints ' unseen of vulgar eyes.' "Charm'd by thy shell, mute crowds shall gather round, "And smile and tremble at the alternate sound, "As thro' each maze thy winding numbers rove, "Now sing the bliss, and now the pangs of love, "Or, as thy big inspirings wildly roll, "A martial tempest to the fevered soul." |