ON A TEAR.

Oh! that the Chemist's magic art Could crystallize this sacred treasure!

Long should it glitter near my heart, A secret source of pensive pleasure.

The little brilliant, ere it fell, Its l.u.s.tre caught from CHLOE'S eye; Then, trembling, left its coral cell-- The spring of Sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!

In thee the rays of Virtue shine; More calmly clear, more mildly bright, Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul!

Who ever fly'st to bring relief, When first we feel the rude controul Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The sage's and the poet's theme, In every clime, in every age; Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream, In Reason's philosophic page.

That very law [Footnote] which moulds a tear, And bids it trickle from its source, That law preserves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.

[Footnote: The law of Gravitation.]

TO A VOICE THAT HAD BEEN LOST. [Footnote 1]

Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor?

Aeris et lingua sum filia; Et, si vis similem pingere, pinge sonum. AUSONIUS.

Once more, Enchantress of the soul, Once more we hail thy soft controul.

--Yet whither, whither did'st thou fly?

To what bright region of the sky?

Say, in what distant star to dwell?

(Of other worlds thou seemst to tell) Or trembling, fluttering here below, Resolv'd and unresolv'd to go, In secret didst thou still impart Thy raptures to the Pure in heart?

Perhaps to many a desert sh.o.r.e, Thee, in his rage, the Tempest bore; Thy broken murmurs swept along, Mid Echoes yet untun'd by song; Arrested in the realms of Frost, Or in the wilds of Ether lost.

Far happier thou! 'twas thine to soar, Careering on the winged wind.

Thy triumphs who shall dare explore?

Suns and their systems left behind.

No tract of s.p.a.ce, no distant star, No shock of elements at war, Did thee detain. Thy wing of fire Bore thee amidst the Cherub-choir; And there awhile to thee 'twas giv'n Once more that Voice [Footnote 2] belov'd to join, Which taught thee first a flight divine, And nurs'd thy infant years with many a strain from Heav'n!

[Footnote 1: In the winter of 1805.]

[Footnote 2: The late Mrs. Sheridan's.]

FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM.

While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels, And the blue vales a thousand joys recall, See, to the last, last verge her infant steals!

O fly--yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.

Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare, And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.

TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO.

And dost thou still, thou ma.s.s of breathing stone, (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl'd) Still sit as on the fragment of a world; Surviving all, majestic and alone?

What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept, Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk Deep in the dust mid tower and temple sunk; Soon to subdue mankind 'twas thine to rise.

Still, still unquell'd thy glorious energies!

Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught [Footnote 1]

Bright revelations of the Good they sought; By thee that long-lost spell [Footnote 2] in secret given, To draw down G.o.ds, and lift the soul to Heav'n!

[Footnote 1: In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II, it was long the favourite study of those great men, to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci.]

[Footnote 2: Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an antient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.

a.n.a.lecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200.]

TO ----- [Footnote]

Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight, By many a torrent's shining track she flew, When mountain-glens and caverns full of night O'er her young mind divine enchantment threw,

That in her veins a secret horror slept, That her light footsteps should be heard no more, That she should die--nor watch'd, alas, nor wept By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore.

Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew The kindred, forms her closing eye requir'd.

There didst thou stand--there, with the smile she knew.

She mov'd her lips to bless thee, and expir'd.

And now to thee she comes; still, still the same As in the hours gone unregarded by!

To thee, how chang'd, comes as she ever came; Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye!

Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears, When lingering, as prophetic of the truth, By the way-side she shed her parting tears-- For ever lovely in the light of Youth?

[Footnote: On the death of her sister.]

WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.

There, in that bed so closely curtain'd round, Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay, A father sleeps! Oh hush'd be every sound!

Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!

He stirs--yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise; Till thro' the shutter'd pane the morning streams, And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.

On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.

Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.