« ZurückWeiter »
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
* Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pos, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See Keate's Account.
No knell that tolled, but filled my
eye, And suffering Nature wept that one should die!"
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast,
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
* Southey's Retrospect.
Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
My heart has thanked thee, Bowles! for those soft
strains Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Through Youths'gay prime and thornless paths I wept: And when the mightier Throes of mind began, And drove me forth, a thought-bewildered man! Their roild and manliest melancholy lent A mingled charm, such as the pang consigned To slumber, though the big tear it renewed; Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep Moved on the darkness of the unformed deep.
As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale, With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise : She spake ! not sadder moans the autumnal gale“ Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name, " Ere in an evil hour with altered voice “ Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice “ Blasting with wizard spell my laurelled fame. “Yet never, BURKE! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! “ The stormy Pity and the cherished lure “ Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul “ Wildered with meteor fires.
Ah Spirit pure! " That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!