1803.] 
Does fhe ne’er whifper, in thy dream, 
« The wretch who loves himfelf alone, 
« Can never drink of rapture’s ftream, 
«Or coufcious, warm exifence own !” 
The fweeteft joys which wealth can give, 
To light pale Want’s lack-luftre eye, 
And aid the toil-worn Mind to live, 
Are joys which thou canft never buy! 
Then count thy hoards of fhining gold, 
And toil and ferape to {well the heap ; 
The heart like thine that’s winter-cold, 
No fruits of wealth can ever reap ! 
Oh! give to me iweet Nature’s ight, 
The balm of life, bleft liberty ; 
And the warm throb of foft delight 
That thrilisthe foul of Sympathy : 
Give me, oh Heav’n, the power to heal 
The wounded foul of finking Woe ; 
Give me the bofom quick to feel 
Affection’s pureft, warmett glow 1 
Give me to fhare in Julia’s figh, 
And reft my head on Julia’s breatt ; 
To chafe the tear from Julia’s eye : 
Then let the mifer take the ret! A. R. 
ee Ra 
HENRY AND EMMA. 
HE midnight Moon ferenely thed 
Her filver ioit-reflected light 
On every rifing mountain’s head, 
Whiltt yet the vales were hid in night ; 
Where Tamer’s ftream adown the plain 
In many a wild meander ftray, 
With hurried fteps a fhepherd-fwain 
Defponding paced his gloomy way. 
«‘ Whither, (he cry’d,) has flown my love? 
My once-fond maid has prov’d unkind 5 
Forlorn through pathlefs wilds i rove, 
. And ftrive to leave my cares behind. 
«¢ Where fhall a wretched wanderer roam ? 
Where from his deep-felt forrows fly ? 
I dare not turn me to my home, 
For Emma’s faife, and I muftdie. 
** Yon filver orb, whofe ray benign, 
Whofe milder beam with foft controul 
Gladdens each fhepherd’s heart but mine, 
Spreads darker horror o’er my foul. 
« Fled isthe fond delufive dream 
Which Hope upheld to Fancy’s eye ; 
Gone like the meteor’s fhadowy gleam, 
For Emma’s faife, and I mutt die. 
© Ye Winds that murmur down the dale, 
Ye Echoes that repeat my fighs, 
To Emmi’s ear convey the tale 
That fays, for her, her Henry dies. 
« Then on the Tamer’s brink he ftood, 
And rais’d to Heaven his tear-fraught eye, 
And as he plung’d him in the flood, 
Said, Emma’s falfe, and thus I die!” 
Fuly. 1803, To He 
Original Poetry. 
45 
ODE ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR. 
ARK ! the battle’s mingled hum 
Echoes from the Gallic fhore ; 
Sounds the “ {pirit-ftirring drum,” 
Neighing fteed, and cannon’s roar ? 
Lo! what tempefts gather round, 
Black, and big with England’s fate ! 
England, route thee at the found ; 
Lo the Gaut is atthe gate ! 
Ere the shaft of War be fped, 
Meet it, and prevent the blow: 
Pow’rs ot Europe, lend your aid 
To deftroy the common toe. 
By the teftering heaps that lie 
Stretch’d on Hohenlinden’s plain, 
Haite to join thme old ally, 
Auitria, be thyfelf again. 
By the ghofts.of thofe that bled 
On Marengo’s fatal day, _ 
Auftria rife, revenge the dead ! 
Auftria, wipe thy fhame away ! 
Is Italia’s fun of glory 
Set ; and fhallit rife no more ? 
Romans, think of your proud ftory 3 _ 
imulate the deeds of yore. 
See your temples by the foe 
Plunder’d, nodding to their fall : 
Red with blood your rivers flow.: 
Defolation covers all. 
Sons of Othman’s ancient line 
Lift your crefcents im the air ;- 
Arabs, Copts, your fquadrons join ; 
Sweli the glittering ranks of war! 
See the bones of Jaffa’s fain 
Heap’d and bleaching to the fy ; 
Sidney’s proweis fhall again 
Guide your arms to victory. 
Think, Batavians, how your fires 
Once their chains of bondage broke ; 
Roufe, O roufe your ancient fires, 
And fhake off a heavier yoke. 
Humbled Spain, where is thy pride ? 
Cant thou bend the vaflal-knee ? 
See the nations ali deride 
Thy peerage and thy chivalry. 
Rufs, and thou his neighbour king, 
Flourifh high your flaming brand , 
Each his dufky-eagles bring 
To pounce upon the guilty land. 
Hear an exil’d Monarch groan— 
(Lift your waving banners high) 
Hurl a tyrant from his throne, 
And fuccour fallen Majefty. 
Nations—Britain leads ye on— 
Each to join the lifts prepare : 
Route ye, ere the fight be done— 
Hurry, hurry tothe war ! 
NEW 
