1821.] 



Original Poetry. 



Porlier, if tbou hasl sliU surveyed 



Tby land to ruin hnri'd, 

 Now see — and joy shiill touch thy shade— 



The triad flaa; unfuii'd ; 

 Chieftain, thy blood stream'd not in vain, 

 It left a deep, a crimson stain, 



That blushed upon the world : 

 Nought to thy maues might suffice 

 But tyrant power, in sacrifice. 

 Blest is the land, to jrnartl whose weal. 



Firm hearts and bauds combine, 

 Where every breast with kindred zeal. 



Is Freedom's holy shrine ; 

 Iron shall not break, nor treasure buy 

 These sacred links of amity ; 



My country, these are thine ; 

 And all thy children's blood shall flow 

 'Ere thou within thee find'st a foe. 



In vain may banded despots league. 



Thou fear'st no human frown, 

 Nor open force, nor dark inirigue. 



Shall bend thy spirit down ; 

 Thou art for ages as the rock 

 That dares the angry billow's shock, 



Its lofty crest to drown ; 

 As mountains towering to the sky, 

 Unmov'd by mortal enmity. 

 And he — the Xerxes of the North, 



Whose reign half earth surrounds. 

 May lead bis iron legions forth 



Beyond their icy bounds ; 

 On thee, Iberia, he may pour 

 The fiery desolating shower ; 



His threats are airy sounds, 

 His boasted myriads soon should feel 

 The vengeance of a patriot's steel. — 



The breath of Tyrants is a spell 



That lives but for a day. 

 Thrice awful liberty shall quell 



The transitory sway ; 

 There is no bond of force to bind 

 The spirit of the free-born mind. 



That mocks the jewell'd ray 

 Of diadems, and owns no might 

 But Law, whose source is equal right. 



Hail, once again, thou rtiuch-lov'd shore, 



Where all my Fathers rest ; 

 May I, when every toil is o'er. 



Repose within tiiy breast : 

 I see thee rise, a beacon star, 

 A light to nations from afar. 



In glory uure[)rest ; 

 And Karth shall pour her prayer for thee. 

 Land of mv Sires, and Liberty. 



Jcy Bridge. _ S. D. 



TO MKLAXCHOLY. 



Oh, Mclanchnly I ever-musing maid. 



Who lov'st 'mid unfrequented scenes to 



rove; 

 Treading the mazes of the leaf-strewn grove, 

 Or resting 'neath the gloomy cypress 



shade : 

 Oft hast thou on the lonely sea-bench strayed, 

 Counting (he fitful pauses of the surge; 

 Oft vicw'il tlio moon from sable cloudg 



eumrge, 



141 



When her pale beams have on the waters 



played. 

 To thee the winds have oft sweet music 

 made. 

 As o'er the trembling strings they've 

 wildly swept. 

 Of thine own instrument, the .Solian 

 lyre ; 

 Now quick, now slow, and sweetly sad they've 

 played. 

 In d) iug cadence ; then, then hast thou 

 wept 

 Responsive to the plaints of the aerial 

 choir. 



Oh, Melancholy! ever-musing maid, 



Thee the world knows not ; but too rashly 



deems, 

 Thy pensive mood with mental misery 

 teems : 

 Attending thee. Pleasure beholds, dismayed, 

 A host of ills in dread phalanx arrayed ; 

 Contempt regards thee with malicious 



sneer ; 

 Scorn her rude finger point M'ith envious 

 leer. 

 And skulking ignorance draws back, afraid. 

 Yet thou art Virtue's choice companion 

 made ; 

 Religion clasps thee to her glowing breast, 

 And Wisdom hails thee with a sister's 

 love. 

 Oh, come, sweet Nymph ! my youthful heart 

 pervade; 

 Calm the anxieties of life to rest. 



And point my waiting soul to blissful 

 realms above. 

 Bridlington, 1820. J.T. 



THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY. 



How lovely shines the liquid pearl 

 Which, trickling from the eye. 



Pours, in a suff'ring brother's wounds 

 The tear oi sympathy ! 



Its beams a fairer lustre yield 



Than richest rubies give ; 

 (Golconda's gems, though bright, are cold) 



It cheers, and bids us live. 



More dear the tribute of a sigh, 



(The offering Pity brings) 

 Than all the sweets which Eastern gales. 



Bear on their golden wings. 



Softer, the tones of Friendship's voice. 

 Its word more kindly flows ; 



More grateful is its simplest lay, 

 Than all which art bestows. 



When tort'ring Anguish racks the soul ; 



When Sorrow points its dart ; 

 When Death, unerring, aims the blow. 



Which cleaves a brother's heart; 

 Then, .Sympathy ! 'tis thine to lull 



The suft'rer's soul to rest ; 

 To feel each |)ang — to share each throb, 



And ease his troubled breast : 



'Tis thine to aid the sinking frurae, 

 To raise the feeble band ; 



To 



