1821 .] 
[ 37 ] 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
ON THE 
THE NARCISSUS. 
DEMISE OF BONAPARTE. 
I T seemeth like a dream—but it is true, 
The Giant of this earth’s wide course is 
gone; 
France, thou who best his eagle-greatness 
knew. 
In bitterness of heart thou long shaft moan 
Thy base apostacy, to him thy Chief, 
Who, in the hour when War’s fell genius 
frowned, 
Saw thee in listlessness,—yield no relief. 
O thou vile land , while legions pressed him 
round. 
At length thy foemen bore him from thy 
ground, 
And close immured him in Oppression’s cell, 
Where, by restrictive horrors firmly bound, 
A vict im to their ’power, Napoleon fell ! ! 
O lest this deed should wake e’en Virtue’s 
rage, 
Blot it, O History, blot it from thy page ! 
Enort. 
TO MR. GRAY, 
On his odes— written by david garrick. 
Repine not. Gray, that our w T eak dazzled 
eyes 
Thy daring heights and brightness shun ; 
How few can track the eagle to the skies, 
Or like him, gaze upon the sun! 
The gentle reader loves the gentle muse, 
That little dares, and little means, 
Who humbly sips her learning from Reviews, 
Or flutters in the Magazines. 
No longer now from Learning’s sacred store 
Our minds their health and vigour' draw'; 
Homer and Pindar are rever’d ko more, 
No more the Stagy rite is law. 
Though nurs’d by these, in vain thy muse ap¬ 
pears, 
To breathe her ardours in our souls; 
In vain to sightless eyes and deaden’d ears 
The lightning gleams and thunder rolls ! 
Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy Heav’n-born 
art, 
Again thy wond’rous powers reveal, 
Wake slumb’ring Virtue in the Briton’s 
heart. 
And rouse us to reflect, and feel 1 
With ancient deeds our long chill’d bosoms 
fire, 
Those deeds which mark’d Eliza’s reign ! 
Make Britons Greeks again—then strike the 
lyre, 
And Pindar shall not sing in vain. 
Soon as thy yellow bell has blown, 
And round thy green-pipe leaves are grown, 
And gemin’d with rain drops pearly ; 
Thou leanest towards thy natal bed, 
Like thought to youthful visions led, 
Which pleasure scattered early. 
The sun discerns thee with his ray. 
The shade and moonlight o’er thee stray* 
Like lovers fondly meeting; 
The air and tempest in their change, 
Like friend and foe caress and range,— 
Destroying thee, or greeting. 
A few brief days and thou wilt shrink 
To die !—like tender frames that think 
Beyond their years,—and leave us ! 
A few brief days !—another race. 
Will rise from earth and shed their grace. 
As hopes to bless, or grieve, us. 
Yet, as thy root to Nature true 
Again will give thee life and hue, 
T’increase thy Maker’s beauty ; 
So Spirits,—if their course be wise, 
From the grave’s confines will arise 
And praise him in their duty. 
Islington, April Qth, 1821. J.R. Prior. 
MELANCHOLY. 
Aurora’s fingers spread their tinsell’d gleams, 
The dawn relieves me from tumultuous 
dreams. 
Ponder I must, if sinking into earth : 
Lost to myself, the world, and nothing worth. 
Contemplate pleasures, stimulating pain, 
Though mournful, pleasing — can faithful 
mem’ry refrain ? Jos. 
LINES 
by mrs. sheridan ,formerly MISS linley. 
Sleep, lovely Babe ! sleep on, from danger 
free, 
Thy gentle mother wakes to watch o’er thee, 
She wakes, thy rosy innocence to guard, 
Thy soft unconscious smile her dear reward : 
Sleep, happy Child ! nor w r ish thy peaceful 
heart 
To know the transports which those smiles 
impart; 
For couldst thou know them, thou must also 
share 
The anxious feelings of thy Mother’s care. 
Soon shall her watching eyes, that dread to 
seek 
A fainter tinge upon thy downy cheek. 
Through tears of silent rapture brighter 
shine, 
To-meet the pure and gentle beams of thins- 
What 
