864 
IMPROMPTU LINES TO SIR JOHN CARR, 
AFTER READING HIS NORTHERN SUM=- 
MER. 
MpHo much you’ve honour’d martial men, 
The triumph is not their’s alone ; 
You, by your pencil and your pen, 
Make every realm you reach your own. 
The wreath, for which the hero sighs, 
Is stain’d with blood, however bright; 
But you bring home a spotless prize, 
Of rich instruction and delight. 
Your Northern Summer seems 2 day, 
As we retrace its varied hours; 
Well pleas’d and proudly we survey 
Your graceful wreath of ** Polar Flowers.” 
H. 
SL a 
THE SKULL. 
ween 66 Mors sola fatetur 
Quantula sint haminum cor puscula !” Juv. 
{ The following Lines were occasioned by the 
accidental discovery of a Skull, by the 
Plough, at no great distance froma populous 
town in the West of England. } 
WITHIN this earthy barrier confin’d 
Once breath’d a heav’n-born soul, long 
since remov'd 
To bear the tale and story of these bones, 
When yet the streams of life cours’d over 
them. ; 
Mean dwelling of that wond’rous guest !— 
Couldst thou 
Unfold the narrow volume of thy span; 
Could that unseemly feature of grimace 
That sneers upon its former state and that 
Which now I wear, relax, and break the 
term 
Of its ordained silence, how intent 
Would I the thousand scenes eventful change 
Of thy unknown mortality record, 
Th’ instructive lessons of a friend deceas’d! 
To thee, poor, tenantless, exhausted case 
Of man’s frail compass, once belong’d the 
rule 
Of passions headstrong as the wintry tide : 
To thee the helm and steerage uncontroul’d 
Of that slight pinnace, man; the sov’reign 
will 
To brook the buffets of an adverse wind ; 
"To dare the rocks, and struggle under storms 
Of seas untried ; or (happier lot!) to bask 
In moorings of some enviable port ! 
Haply thy days are pencil’d by the hand 
Of living fame, or stand enroll’d above 
Within the page alone of mortal doom, 
* ‘Whom nor ambition sway’d, nor empty glare 
Of praise.—Oh! the flesh creeps upon my 
bones, 
When, rzncy paints thee seme black harden’d 
wretch, 
Distain’d in heart with spots of unwash’d 
grime, 
Original Poetry. ) 
[May 1, 
Of murder, villainy, and teeming acts, 
That call for hell and vengeance! Could 
these bones, ; 
The slender relics of thy little strength, 
Once dare to stretch their feebie nothingness 
Against the fats of Omnipotence ? 
Of tardy justice mock th” impending bolt? 
Or clip the thread of gratitude and love, 
Inwoven inthy nature? Rather say, 
Thou could’st forget the splendour of thy 
birth 
And bend thee supple, fraught with lies, and 
smiles, 
In the lov’d sunshine of a patron’s grace. 
Say rather, thou didst busy thee in vain 
Amid the phantom scenes of luxury 
Irresolute; or, with extended arms, 
Didst follow the receding, vagrant blaze 
Of pleasures gross, as fatal.. Yet, how grim, 
How bare thy joys have left these worthless 
bones ! Be 
Might the dread seal of secrecy be burst, 
What noble converse could the charnel’d 
dead 
Pour in the list’ning ear! And truly thou 
Couldst weave a fit discourse to curb the rage 
Of frantic man.—-Perhaps to thee was given 
To reach the depth and treasures infinite 
Of sacred lore; to commerce with thuse 
bards 
And rev’rend sages of far distant times, 
Whose sense ushallow’d still directs to 
heav’n 5 = 
To trace the myriads of shining worlds, 
That compass this mean speck ; to spurn the 
sway 
And endless throne of space; to name and 
range 
The hidden and disclosed stores of things, 
That croud the earth, and give a zest to life ! 
Perchance in thee the lamp of genius burn’d, 
And thou could’st tread the steepy heights of 
verse, 3 
Or wind the maze of raptur’d thought, and 
pore ji : 
With wonder and delight upon the worlds 
Of sportive forms, thou didst thyself create. 
eae joy!—-Now, those rich day dreams 
- fled, 
Have left this monument, this clay-cold ash 
Of fire extinct. 
me: - Immortal man! the care 
And nursling of a Sire all provident, 
‘Th’ inheritor of weakness, sin, and death, 
- Suspended from the moment by a hair, ~ 
Whose big designs, and lordly acts, embalm 
Thy name within the frail survivor’s breast ; 
These are the base memorials thou shalt 
leave 5 - A has 
This the vile shell, in which that mighty 
soul 3 . 
Once quickened, and inform’d thy proud ex 
ploits,— 
Must be the goal of beauty, rank, and fame. 
5 ae Oe 
AMOR, 
