ODE TO CAPTIVITY.

WRITTEN IN THE LAST WAR.

STERN Captivity! from Albion's land Far, far, avert the terrours of thy rod! O wave not o'er her fields thy flaming brand! O crush not Freedom, fairest child of God!Bring not from thy Gallic shore The galling fetters, groaning oar! Bring not hither Virtue's bane, Thy sister Superstition's train!

O spare from sanguine rites the silver floods ! Nor haunt with shapes obscene our unpolluted woods!

Is yet too weak, rapacious power, thy throne? While the chain'd continent thy vassal waits, The Rhine, the Danube, and the sounding Rhone, Proclaim thy triumphs through an hundred

states.

See Valentia's smiling vales

Courted for thee by ocean's gales ! Through yawning vaults on Tagus' streams,

Thine revenge's dagger gleams: Thy fury bursts on Rome's devoted head, In vain the Scipios liv'd, the Decii, Cato bled! Be these thy bounds-whose laws with monarchs

reign,

To this fair isle how impotent thy hate! Where Pitt, so righteous Heaven and George ordain,

In wisdom guides the thunder of the state.
That thunder shook on Afric's shore,2
The howling wild where lions roar;
In western worlds its awful powers
Sunk astonish'd Bourbon's towers;
That thunder sounding o'er the Celtic main,
Roll'd to Lutetia's walls along the affrighted
Seine.

Daughters of Albion! strew his paths with flowers,
O wake for him the lute's harmonious chord !
His name be echoed in your festal bowers,
Who guards Britannia from a foreign lord!
Happy fair, who seated far

From haughty conquerors, barbarous war,
Have heard alone in tragic songs

Of cities storm'd and virgins' wrongs, There felt the daughters, parents, consorts groan, And wept historic woes, unpractis'd in your own! Have you not heard how Sion's daughters mourn'd Their prostate land?-how Greece her victims

"Ye gales!" they cried, "ye cruel eastern

gales!

Adverse to Troy, conspiring with the foe, That eager stretch the victor's swelling sails, To what unfriendly regions will ye blow? Shall we serve on Doric plains? Or where in Pithia Pyrrhus reigns? Shall Echo catch our captive tales? Joyless in the sprightly vales Apidanus thy beauteous current laves, Say, shall we sit and dream of Simois' fairer waves?

"Shall Delos, sacred Delos, hear our woes?

Where when Latona's offspring sprung to birth, The palm spontaneous, and the laurel rose, O Dian, Dian, on thy hallowed earth; With Delian maids, a spotless band, At virtue's altar shall we stand And hail thy name with choral joy Invok'd in vain for falling Troy? Thy shafts victorious shall our songs proclaim, When not an arrow fled to spare thy votaries shame.

"To Athens, art's fair empire, shall we rove? There for some haughty mistress ply the loom, With daring fancy paint avenging Jove, His forked lightnings faming through the glooin,

To blast the bold Titanian race: Or deaf to nature, must we trace In mournful shades our hapless war ? What art, dread Pallas, to thy car, Shall yoke th' immortal steeds? what colours tell By thine, by Pyrrhus' lance, how lofty Ilion fell? Yes, cruel gods, oar bleeding country falls, Her chic fs are slain-see brothers, sires expire! Ah see, exulting o'er her prostrate walls, The victor's fury, and devouring fire ! Asia's haughty genius broke, Bows the neck to Europe's yoke, Chains are all our portion now, No festal wreaths shall bind our brow, Nor Hymen's torches light the bridal day: O Death,and black Despair, behold your destin'd prey!"

IMITATION FROM OSSIAN'S POEMS. LATELY PUBLISHED BY THE TITLE OF FINGAL, &c. BROWN Autumn nods upon the mountain's head,

The dark mist gathers; howling winds assail
The blighted desert; on its mineral bed
Dark rolls the river through the sullen vale.
On the hill's dejected scene

The blasted ash alone is seen, [sleeps;
That marks the grave where Connal
Gather'd into mould'ring heaps

From the whirlwind's giddy round,

Its leaves bestrew the hallowed ground. Across the musing hunter's lonesome way Flit inelancholy ghosts, that chill the dawn of day.

4 An imitation of the first chorus in the Hecuba of Euripides.

Connal, thou slumber'st there, the great, the

good!

[trace? Thy long-fam'd ancestors what tongue can Firm, as the oak on rocky heights, they stood; Planted as firm on glory's ample base.

Rooted in their native clime,

Brav'd alike devouring time,
Full of honours, full of age,
That lofty oak the winter's rage
Rent from the promontory's brow,

And death has laid the mighty low.
The mountains mourn their consecrated tree;
His country Counal mourns :--what son shall
rival thee?

Here was the din of arms, and here o'erthrown
The valiant!-mournful are thy wars, Fingal ;
The caverns echo'd to the dying groan,
The fatal fields beheld the victor fall;

Tall amidst the host, as hills
Above their vales and subject rills,
His arm, a tempest lowering high,
His sword, a beam of summers sky,
His eyes, a fiery furnace, glare,

His voice that shook th' astonish'd war, Was thunder's sound: he smote the trembling 'foes,

As sportive infant's staff the bearded thistle mows. Onward to meet this hero, like a storm,

A cloudy storm, the mighty Dargo came; As mountain caves, where dusky meteors form, His hollow eye-balls flash'd a livid flame.

And now they join'd, and now they wield Their clashing steel-resounds the field: Crimora heard the loud alarms, Rinval's daughter, bright in arms, Her hands the bow victorious bear, Luxuriant way'd her auburn hair; Connal, her life, her love, in beauty's pride, She follow'd to the war, and fought by Connal's side.

In wild despair, at Connal's for she drew

The fatal string, impatient flew the dart; Ah hapless maid !-with erring course it flew ; The shaft stood trembling in her lover's heart: He fell so fails by thunder's shock From ocean's cliffs the rifted rock, That falls and ploughs the groaning strand He fell by love's unwilling hand, Hapless maid! from eve to day, Connal, my love; the breathless clay My love, she calls-now rolls her frantic eyes-Now bends them sad to earth-she sinks, she faints, she dies.

Together rest in Earth's parental womb,

Her fairest offspring; mournful in the vale
I sit, while, issuing from the moss-grown tomb,
Your once-lov'd voices seem to swell the gale.-
Pensive Memory wakes her powers,
Oft recals your smiling hours
Of fleeting life, that wont to move
On downy wings of youth and love;
The smiling hours no more return;
-All is hush'd-your silent urn

The mountain covers with its awful shade,
Far from the haunts of men in pathless desert
Jaid.

ODE TO YOUTH.

YOUTH, ah stay, prolong delight, Close thy pinions stretch'd for flight! Youth, disdaining silver hairs, Autumn's frowns and Winter's cares, Dwell'st thou but in dimple sleek,

man woes.

Years away! too dear I prize

Fancy's haunts, her vales, her skies;
Come, ye gales that swell the flowers,
Wake my soul's expanding powers;
Come, by streams embow'r'd in wood,
Celestial forms, the fair, the good!
With moral charms associate vernal joys!
Pure nature's pleasures these the rest are
fashion's toys.

Come, while years reprove in vain,
Youth, with me, and rapture reign!
Sculpture, painting, meet my eyes,
Glowing still with young surprise!
Never to the virgin's lute

This ear be deaf, this voice be mute!
Come, beauty, cause of anguish, heal its smart,
-Now temperate measures beat, unalter'd else
my heart.

Still my soul, for ever young,
Speak thyself divinely sprung!
Wing'd for Heaven, embracing Earth,
Link'd to all of mortal birth,
Brute or man, in social chain

Still link'd to all, who suffer pain.

Pursue the eternal law !-one power above Connects, pervades the whole-that power divine is love.

TO THE THAMES.

NEARER to my grove, O Thames!
Lead along thy sultry streams,
Summer fires the stagnant air,
Come and cool thy bosom there!
Trees shall shelter, Zephyrs play,
Odours court thy smiling stay;

There the lily lifts her head, Fairest child of Nature's bed.

Oh! Thames, my promise all was vain:
Autumnal storms, autumnal rain
Have spoil'd that fragrance, stript those shades,
Hapless flower! that lily fades.-
What? if chance, sweet evening ray,
Or western gale of vernal day,
Momentary bloom renews,
Heavy with unfertile dews

It bends again, and seems to cry,
"Gale and sunshine, come not nigh!
Why reclaim from winter's power
This wither'd stalk, no more a flower!"
Such a flower, my youthful prime,
Chill'd by rigour, sapp'd by time,
Shrinks beneath the clouded storm:
What? if Beauty's beaming forin,
And Cambrian virgin's vocal air
Expand to smiles my brow of care:
That beam withdrawn, that melting sound,
The dews of death hang heavier round,
No more to spring, to bloom, to be,
I bow to fate and Heaven's decree.

Come then, Cambrian virgin, come,
With all thy music seek my tomb,
With all thy grace, thy modest state,
With all thy virtues, known too late!
Come, a little moment spare
From pious rites and filial care!
Give my tomb-no heart-felt sigh,
No tear convulsing pity's eye!
Gifts oft too endearing name

For you to grant, for me to claim;
But bring the song-whose healing sounds
Were balin to all my festering wounds.
Bring the lyre-by music's power
My soul entranc'd shall wait the hour,
The dread majestic hour of doom,
When through the grave, and through the
Heaven shall burst in floods of day:
Dazzled with so fierce a ray,

My aching eyes shall turn to view

[gloom,

I quit thy lyre-but still the train
Of sweet sensations warms my brain.
What? though social joy and love
Forget to haunt my sullen grove:
Though there my soul, a stagnant flood,
Nor flows its own, or others good,
Emblem of yon faded flower,
That, chill'd by frost, expands no more:
The dreary scene yet sometimes closes
When sleep inspires, on beds of roses,
Such dear delusions, fairy charms
As fancy dreams in virtue's arms.
For see, a gracious form is near!
She comes to dry my falling tear.
One pious hand in pity spread
Supports my else unshelter'd head;
The other waves to chase away
The spectres haunting all my day:
She calls-above, below, around

Sweet fragrance breathes, sweet voices sound-
Such a balm to wounded minds,

Gentle Kitty, slumber finds;

Such a change is misery's due-
-Who wakes to grief should dream of you.

AH! bow to music, bow my lays
To beauty's noblest art!
To reach the bosom mine the praise,
But thine to melt the heart.
'Tis mine to close affliction's wounds,
To brighten pleasure's eye:
But thine, by sweet dissolving sounds,
To make it bliss to die.

My notes but kindle cold desire,
Ah! what you feel for me!
Diviner passions thine inspire,

Ah! what I feel for thee!

Associate then thy voice, thy touch,
O wed to mine thy powers!
Be such at least, nor blush at such
Connubial union our's!

Its milder beams reflect from you.

TO MISS KP

GENTLE Kitty, take the lyre
Thy magic hands alone inspire!

But wake not once such swelling chords
As rouse ambition's stormy lords,
Nor airs that jocund tabors play
To dancing youth in shades of May,
Nor songs that shake old Picton's towers,
When feast and music blend their powers!
But notes of mildest accent call,
Of plaintive touch and dying fall;
Notes, to which thy hand, thy tongue,
Thy every tender power is strung.—
Cambrian maid, repeat that strain!
Sooth my widow'd bosom's pain!
Its passions own thy melting tones;
Sighs succeed to bursting groans;
Soft and softer still they flow,
Breathing more of love than woe;
Glistening in my eye appears
A tenderer dew than bitter tears;
Springing hope despair beguiles,
And sadness softens into smiles.

And ask the youths! why heavenly fair Their tenderest vows inspires?

If Juno's more than regal air,

Or fierce Minerva's fires?

'Tis bashful Venus they prefer

Retiring from the view,

And, what their lips address to her,
Their bosoms feel for you.

TO MISS K—— P

Your bosom's sweet treasures thus ever disclose!
For believe my ingenuous confession,
The veil meant to hide them but only bestows
A softness transcending expression.
"Good Heaven!" cries Kitty, "what language
I hear!

Have I trespass'd on chastity's laws?
Is my tucker's clear muslin indecently clear?
Is it no sattin apron, but gauze ?"

Ah no!-not the least swelling charm is descried
Thro' the tucker, too bashfully decent;

And your apron hides all that short aprons can hide,

From the fashion of Eve to the present. The veil, too transparent to hinder the sight, Is what modesty throws on your mind : That veil only shades, with a tenderer light, All the feminine graces behind.

TO MISS K- P

<Si un arbre avoit du sentiment, il se plairoit à
voir celui qui le cultive se reposer sous son
ombrage, respirer le parfum de ses fleurs,
gouter la douceur de ses fruits: Je suis cet
arbre, cultivé par vous, & la Nature m' a
donné une ame.
MARMONTEL.
AMID thy native mountains, Cambrian fair,
Were some lone plant supported by thy care,
Sav'd from the blast, from winter's chilling powers,
In vernal suns, in vernal shades and showers,
By thee reviving: did the favoured tree
Exist, and blossom and mature by thee:
To that selected plant did Heaven dispense,
With vegetable life, a nobler sense:
Would it not bless thy virtues, gentle maid?
Would it not woo thy beauties to its shade?
Bid all its buds in rich luxuriance shoot,
To crown thy summer with autumnal fruit,
Spread all its leaves, a pillow to thy rest,
Give all its flowers to languish on thy breast,
Reject the tendrils of th' uxorious vine,
And stretch its longing arms to circle thine?
Yes; in creation's intellectual reign,
Where life, sense, reason, with progressive chain,
Dividing, blending, for:n th' harmonious whole:
-That plant am I, distinguish'd by a soul.

TO MISS K

WITH ANSON'S VOYAGE

RAPTUR'D traveller, cease the tales Of Tinian's lawns, Fernandes' vales;

Of isles, concentering Nature's charms,
Lapt in peaceful Ocean's arms;
Of that Hesperian world, which lies
Beneath the smile of southern skies,
Where Zephyr waves unflagging wings,
Where Albion's summers, Latian springs
Join thy autumns, smiling France,
And lead along th' eternal dance!

These enchanting scenes, and all
That wake to form at fancy's call,
And all the sportive pencil traces,
Are feeble types of living graces.
Of moral charms, that mental throne
Unclouded beauty calls her own.
Where all the Sun's meridian blaze
Is twilight gloom to virtue's rays.
There with richer blended sweets
Wedded Spring her Autumn meets;
There Fernandes' brighter shore,
There a purer Chili's ore,

Fruits and flowers are there combin'd
In fairer Tinian-Kitty's mind.

WHERE Hitch's gentle current glides,
An ancient convent stands,
Sacred to prayer and holy rites
Ordain'd by pious hands.

Here monks of saintly Benedict

Their nightly vigils kept,
And lofty anthems shook the choir
At hours when mortals slept.
But Harry's wide reforming hand
That sacred order wounded;

He spoke-from forth their hallow'd walls
The friars fled confounded.

Then wicked laymen ent'ring in,
Those cloisters fair prophan'd;
Now riot loud usurps the seat
Where bright devotion reign'd.

Ev'n to the chapel's sacred roof,
Its echoing vaults along,

Besounds the flute, and sprightly dance,
And hymeneal song.

Yet fame reports, that monkish shades
At midnight never fail

To haunt the mansions once their own,
And tread its cloisters pale.

One night, more prying than the rest,
It chanc'd a friar came,

And enter'd where on beds of down

Repos'd each gentle dame.

Here, softening midnight's raven gloom,
Lay Re, blushing maid;
There, wrapt in folds of cypress lawn,
Her virtuous aunt was laid.

He stopp'd, he gaz'd, to wild conceits
His roving fancy run,

He took the aunt for prioress,
And Re for a nun,

It hap'd that R- 's capuchin,
Across the couch display'd,
To deem her sister of the veil,]
The holy sire betray'd.
Accosting then the youthful fair,

His raptur'd accents broke;
Amazement chill'd the waking nymph;
She trembled as he spoke.

"Hail balcyon days! Hail holy nun! This wondrous change explain: Again religion lights her lamp,

Reviews these walls again.

"For ever blest the power that checkt
Reformists' wild disorders,

Restor❜d again the church's lands.
Reviv'd our sacred orders.

"To monks indeed, from Edward's days,
Belong'd this chaste foundation;

Yet sister nuns may answer too

The founder's good donation.

"Ah! well thy virgin vows are heard:

For man were never given

Those charms, reserv'd to nobler ends,
Thou spotless spouse of Heaven!

"Yet speak what cause from morning mass
Thy ling'ring steps delays: .
Haste to the deep-mouth'd organ's peal
To join thy vocal praise.

"Awake thy abbess sisters all;

At Mary's holy shrine,

With bended knees and suppliant eyes
Approach, thou nun divine !"—

"No Nun am I," recov'ring cried
"No nun, I say,

The nymph;

Nor nun will be, unless this fright
Should turn my locks to grey.
""Tis true, at church I seldom fail
When aunt or uncle leads;

Yet never rise by four o'clock

To tell my morning beads. "No mortal lover yet, I vow,

My virgin heart has fixt,

But yet I bear the creatures talk
Without a grate betwixt.

"To Heav'n my eyes are often cast (From Heav'n their light began)

Yet deign sometimes to view on Earth It's image stampt on man.