1821 



Original Poetry. 



PlQC'd nmiii the btiUUi's tliuuder, 

 Tiimult wild and deeds of ^¥onder, 

 Love would whisper with n smile 

 Lucy sees thee all the while. 



What a change of the scene — what new pros- 

 pects I see, 

 From the triumphs of war I remove 



To the cottage of peace, and sweet Lucy to 

 thee, 



To be blest on the bosom of love, 



Plac'd amid the battle's thunder. 

 Tumult wild and deeds of wonder. 

 Love would whisper with a smile 

 Lucy sees thee all the while. 



THE MANL4C. 



See youder sits, with sad and vacant eye, 



Which scarce the wind can hush, his length- 

 ened sigh, 



One lost to reason, lost to all her powers, 



Lost to the world with all its conscious 

 hours : 



He hears the wind that howls around his 

 head ; 



He hears the storm, but all its terrors fled ; 



The thunder rolls, the quivVing light'nings 



play. 



But all their horrors cannot wake dismay : 

 'Twas said the cause was love, but ill be- 

 stowed, 

 Allien the fair tickle object he had loved 

 Left all, her little home, and friends beside. 

 To be another's, and a stranger's bride : 

 And ever since that hour, that parting day. 

 That saw the ship convey his love away. 

 He wanders wild, along the sea-beat shore. 

 Nor heeds the billows that around him roar, 

 Himself more tossed than the stormy waves. 

 While reason totters, and the maniac raves ; 

 " I'll give,'' (he cries,) " these pretty shells, 



I'll give 

 Them all, ah, all, to Delia, if she live. 

 See, see, she comes, I'll haste to give her 



these, 

 In her white hand, and on my bended knees. 

 Ah, nearer see, no, no, I but mistake. 

 My eyes grow dim, beclouded much of 



late; 

 Twas but the shade that glides along the 



hill. 

 Those airy vapours that allure me still : 

 Oh, horror, madness all, I had forgot, 

 Away, ye baubles, leave me to my lot. 

 She's gone, and left me, wretched here to 



die; 

 I>eft me to perish in my misery ; 

 Once I could weep, but now I cannot weep, 

 Nor will these eye-balls pour their kind 



relief; 

 O ! sleepless ocean, ever foaming near. 

 Could I but tell thee all my sorrows here. 

 Thy heaving bosom then would throb the 



more, 

 And briny tears would deluge all the shore. 

 Hush ! did my Delia speak ? it cannot be r 

 1 have no Delia now, that thinks of mc. 



337 



'Twas but the whispering of the paHsinj 



wind, 

 That sighs in pity, and is far more kind : 

 No more of this, 'twill crack my brain, no 



more, 

 I call on you, ye vultures, as ye soar. 

 And ye, all tow 'ring eagles, as ye fly, 

 Whose habitation soars amid the sky, 

 To have some pity on this grief-worn head. 

 And from your dizzy nests in swiftness 



sped. 

 To dig a little grave along this shore, 

 Where I can slumber, and be seen no more ; 

 Here shall the waves run dancing o'er my 



bed. 

 And here the sea-gull hover o'er my he ad. 

 The talking wind shall tell its nightly lore 

 Thro' the dread night, when I am heard no 



more ; 

 Here rest this wasting, and this haggard 



frame. 

 Nor love, nor madness, more disturb this 



brain." 

 March 23(1, 1821. J. S. H. 



RAIN. 



Drops from the sea, 



Kiss'd into clouds by the warm sun 

 When his rays placidly 



Descend and run. 



Divided streams. 



Like radiant tears which fall from eyes, 

 When Hope with pleasure beams 



To brighter skies. 



Tlie welcome gems 



That cool Earth's feverish brow, 

 And shine on young green diadems 



Of flower and bough. 



Sweet Rain ! — when blown 



By the soft breath of circling space. 

 From angels fingers thrown. 

 Without a sigh. 

 To christen and to sanctify 



The Human Race. 



Islington. J. R. Prior. 



LINES, 

 On seeing a Portrait of lady russell. 

 There's a charm of loveliness on those lips. 

 That seem to breathe unutterable things ; 

 Sure nature, parent goddess, did bestow, 

 And with her dewy fingers, soft imbibe 

 The rosy fragrance, drank from Heavenly 



dews, 

 To pour the luscious nectar, soft impress'd. 

 Upon those breathing, pencil'd lips of red ; 

 Ye heavens, and those eyes, in all their 



thinking 

 Posture to adorn, — whose hanging eye-lids 

 Sweep the bright orbs that sparkle from 



beneath. 

 Like heav'ns canopy, in the night pro- , 



found. 

 Drops her dark shade, to grace the spangled 



sky ; 



Sure 



