ee 
1825.] [ 
437] 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
EPIC FRAGMENTS—No. V. 
PEACE. 
’Tis ‘‘ Peace on Earth!’ _The mighty have 
proclaim’d 
A day of jubilee: for they have sheath’d 
The sword of emulation, and have clos’d 
The temple of their Janus—satiate 
With gladiatorial blood, on the great stage 
OF their ambition shed. 
Tis “* Peace on Earth !” 
The husband, and the father, and the son, 
The friend; the brother, may again return 
To breathe short respite in the arms of those 
Who, in the dreams of many a tearful night, 
Had number’d them among the battle slain, 
Or view’d in captive bonds. 
Tis “ Peace on Earth!” 
The wan-grown maiden, asthe shout she hears, 
Shall feel her bloom rekindle; and, in place 
Of willow garland water’d with her tears, 
Shall gild with sunny smiles the wreath en- 
twin’d . 
To braid her nuptial tresses. War has ceas’d! 
The grandsire mourns not heirless; and the 
wife 
Shall know herselfno widow ; while her babes, 
No orphans now, climb the paternal knee, 
And, ’midst their joyous prattle,help tounloose 
The badge and burden of the finish’d strife 
From his encumber’d side. Enjoy the hour 
Of calm, ye dearones! To thy answering 
breast 
Clasp close, thou maiden, the permitted boon 
Of love’s brief blessing! and thou mother, 
strain 
The duteous stripling in the strict embrace 
Of holier rapture! Cling, ye little ones, 
To the glad-bending neck, and thrill the éar 
With those soft lispings, which the listening 
heart 
Kindle to ecstasy! Feast, while ye may, 
(In bower, or hall; or homestead, wheresoe’er) 
The sense of social sympathy! for short 
The respite that the great ones of the earth 
Accord ; and scant the measure of your joy. 
J.T. 
SONG. 
I. e 
Wuey sunbeams have dispell’d the gloom 
That hung,on lingering night,— 
Around creation’s children bloom, 
And bask in morning’s light : 
Oh, thus, sweet maid, your looks can chase 
From me each gloomy care ; 
For while one smile bedecks your face, 
I feel life’s sunshine there, 
Il 
When day declines, and shadows spread, 
Oh, then ’tis sweet to see 
The cloudless moon her splendour shed 
On streamlet, tower and tree, 
Kind Nature’s smile I love to view 
_Ateve or morning fair ; 
But dearer prize one smile from you ; 
I feel life’s sunshine there, L.LiT. 
ANACREONTIC GLEE. 
Boy, bring me here, from Bacchus’ hoard, 
The brightest bowl that decks his board ; 
And, init, press the richest shower 
That hangs around his viny bower. 
Then, as the balmy juice I quaff, 
Should Venus and her Cupids laugh, 
Pll catch their amorous, mirthful wiles, 
And win my fair with Love’s own smiles. 
As dews revive the fading flower, 
My soul’s refreshed by wine’s blest power : 
And, while I revel in the stream, 
Expands before good-humour's beam. 
Then bring me, boy, from Bacchus’ hoard, 
The brightest bowl that decks his board : 
And, in it, press the richest shower 
That hangs around his viny bower.—L.L.T. 
PARODY 
ON POPE'S ODE ON SOLITUDE. 
Hapry the man, of wealth unbounded, 
Whose acres smile in wide expansion, 
With every luxury surrounded 
In his own mansion ; 
Whose cellars yield tokay, champaigne, 
Whose garden, each delicious fruit ; 
Whose larder, venison, turtle, game, 
His taste to suit. 
Blest! who in pleasure’s lap can find 
Hours, days and years slide soft away, 
No joy denied, no wish confin’d ; 
Happy by day ! 
Happy by night! pleasure and ease 
For him their varied charms combining ;: 
To.Love’s soft pains, which most can please, 
Each thought resigning, 
Thus let me live :—when life is done, 
A marble tomb shall proudly say, 
How well life’s toilsome course I run, 
And smooth’d the way. J.B. 
SONNET, 
ADDRESSED TO SIR RICHARD PHILLIPS. 
Tue Muse came drooping to thy threshold, 
weak, 
And wan with sorrow. Oh! her faded look 
Like memory’s troubles, written in a book), 
Told she had suffer’d from affliction bleak ; 
The Muse came drooping to thy threshold— 
struck 
With mental anguish, oh ! thy cheering smile, 
As the sun gilds some wintry flowing brook, 
Sooth’d her lonehours of heaviest grief awhile. 
And much I thank thee. Gratitude is like 
Some dew-hung flower, which loves itself to 
see 
Pictur’d in some lone lake:—so this heart, 
ripe 
With kindliest feelings, Phillips! turns to 
thee ! 
Turns to where thou dost past: thy useful life, 
Gilding Truth’s mirror fair with’ bright 
Philosophy. 
Banks of the Darent. Enorr. 
