i811.] 
Where chiefs stalk’d forth, by warlike ho- 
nour mail’d? 
Where not in vain had Charles his stand- 
. ard rear’d, 
‘ 
While Cornish faith and valour aught 
vavail’d 5 
Where shone high patriot worth in Pitt 
tever'd; 
And-where, in Grenville, hath affection 
hail’d 
Shades by a consort’s sister-sighs endear’d.”” 
Fol. I. p. 57. 
eel 
TO PROFESSOR DAVY, 1808. 
BY THE 8AME. 
"THE jealous Muse, who bade thine early 
youth, 
Traverse the dark Bolerium, o’er its clifts, 
With Fancy ranging, pale, where Auster 
lifts 
The surge, was check’d, as philosophic 
truth =, ae 
Prun’d thy wild wing; yet scarce suspecting 
ruth, 
Pursued thy flights at distance. Quick as 
shifts 
The vernal sun and ‘shade, she mark’d thy 
glance, 
And rank’d thy rapid visions in her train, 
Illusive, and still hail’d the fairy dance. 
But, when she. saw thy chemic powers ad- 
. vance, 
Where mineral Nature holds her mystic 
reign, 
Embodying forms which Poets dard not 
feign; | 
Starting See from her trance, 
She own many ia sigh, invention 
p59. 
—— 
TO THE AUTHOR’S SON, RICHARD 3 WHO, 
ON HIS WAY TO WOOLWICH ACADEMY, 
HAD NEGLECTED TO WRITE TO HIS 
FRIENDS, 1809. 
: BY THE SAME. 
At ! why, dear boy, this long delay ? 
~ Again comes on the close of day ; 
o meet the Postman’s lagging way, 
Thy brothers run! ; 
And hark! the horn resounds again, 
Too true my fears!—its blast was vain! 
Ah, why thus give thy parents pain ? 
My Son! my Son! 
Had not misfortune fall’n on thee, 
I’m sure thou would’st not silent be! 
O now dire forms of fate, I see 
‘ Each hope forgone! 
How could I send thee all untried, 
Poor wanderer! thus without a guide, 
Where rushes the world’s whelming tide, 
My Son! my Son! 
Perhaps, ’tis thine in death to lie 
(No mother to sustain thee nigh) 
Or pour, the stranger passing by, 
The unpitied moan! 
Montary Mag. No, 213, 
Original Poetry. 
449 
Or (frenzy to the firmest mind,) 
Still seeking, never may we find, 
A trace of thee among mankind, 
My Son! my Son! 
In vain, ‘would reason banish hence 
Of, mortal ills the lively sense, 
Or the heart sick in pale suspence 
Each phantom shun, 
Or if by night we drop asleep, 
Midst dreary wastes, down many a steep, 
We follow thee ; then, wake and weep, 
My Son! my Son! 
Yet save us from the fiend Despair, 
Father of mercies !—Thine we are! 
Without thy providential care, 
There breathes not one! 
He hears the cry, when sorrow calls, 
When doubts distress, or fear appalsy 
Without whom not a sparrow falls, 
My Son! my Son! [ 
Sa 
TOA FRIEND, WHO REQUESTED A WRITS 
TEN CHARACTER : 
OF LORD WELLINGTON. 
By Major C* * *, 
GIVE Wellesley’s portrait? Oh, how yain 
the hope ! 
To gain that portrait in a letter’s scope | 
Nor vain the hope alone; but he more vain, 
Who thinks his canvas can the bust contain, 
Can to one focus in his picture blend 
The statesman, sportsman, warrior, and 
friend, 
Oh! not to me belongs the glowing lay, 
That bade the multitude resound Assaye !* 
Nor mine, alas! the animated strain, 
That told his deeds on Talavera’s plain ; 
Wor docs my Muse presumptuous. wing her 
flight, 
To sing the glories of Bosaco’s height!!! 
Yet had I pow’rs! how proudly I'd rehearse 
The deeds of Wellington in deathless verse 5 
Then future ages would repeat my lays, 
In sounds.of honour, gnd in songs of praise 5 
Still should these lines, however poor and 
brief, se 
Serve to.acquaint you with our much-lov’d 
chicf ; 
Shew how he shines when wan’s dread cla- 
tion sounds, 
Or tell how jocundly he'll join your hounds 5 
Or his urbanity and mirth record, 
When guests surround his hospitable board! 
Paint the resources of his wond’tous mind, 
Of valour, wisdom, wit, and worth, come 
bin’d; 
Thus would the portrait in one sentence 
end, 
‘6 His’ country’s honour, and the soldier’s 
friend.” 
Portugal, January 1811. 
LLL 
* Alluding to a poem, commencing 
*¢ Shout Britons for the battle of Assaye.” 
5M To 
