LINES

WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY

THE HOUSE OF THE "MAN OF ROSS."

RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords,

Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear!
Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth; He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of

praise,

He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay,
Pour'd the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray.
Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass:
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought;
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt,
And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt!

DESTRUCTION OF THE BASTILE.

I

HEARD'ST thou yon universal cry,

And dost thou linger still on Gallia's shore?
Go, Tyranny! beneath some barbarous sky
Thy terrors lost, and ruin'd power deplore!
What tho' through many a groaning age
Was felt thy keen suspicious rage,
Yet Freedom rous'd by fierce Disdain

Has wildly broke thy triple chain,

And like the storm which earth's deep entrails hide, At length has burst its way and spread the ruins

wide.

IV.

*

In sighs their sickly breath was spent ; each gleam Of Hope had ceas'd the long long day to cheer; Or if delusive, in some flitting dream,

It gave them to their friends and children dearAwak'd by lordly Insult's sound

To all the doubled horrors round,

Oft shrunk they from Oppression's band
While anguish rais'd the desperate hand

For silent death; or lost the mind's control,

Thro' every burning vein would tides of frenzy roll.

V.

But cease, ye pitying bosoms, cease to bleed!
Such scenes no more demand the tear humane;
I see, I see! glad Liberty succeed

With every patriot virtue in her train!
And mark yon peasant's raptured eyes;
Secure he views his harvests rise;
No fetter vile the mind shall know,
And Eloquence shall fearless glow.

Yes! Liberty the soul of life shall reign, Shall throb in every pulse, shall flow thro' every vein !

VI.

Shall France alone a despot spurn?

Shall she alone, O Freedom, boast thy care?
Lo, round thy standard Belgia's heroes burn,
Tho' Power's blood-stain'd streamers fire the air,
And wider yet thy influence spread,
Nor e'er recline thy weary head,

Till every land from pole to pole
Shall boast one independent soul!

And still, as erst, let favor'd Britain be

First ever of the first and freest of the free!

LINES

TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.

[near,

ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wandering I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours, With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. For not through pathless grove with murmur rude Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude; Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, The hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Pride of the vale! thy useful streams supply The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Released from school, their little hearts at rest, Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. The rustic here at eve with pensive look Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook, Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread To list the much-loved maid's accustomed tread : She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, Loiters, the long-filled pitcher in her hand.

Unboastful stream! thy fount with pebbled falls
The faded form of past delight recalls,

What time the morning sun of Hope arose,
And all was joy; save when another's woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive moon:
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along!

LINES ON A FRIEND

WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY
CALUMNIOUS REPORTS.

EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan,
And inly groan for heaven's poor outcast―man!
"Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth
If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth
We force to start amid her feigned caress
Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness;
A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,
And on we go in heaviness and fear!

But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower

Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour,

The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground,
And mingled forms of misery rise around:
Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
That courts the future woe to hide the past;
Remorse, the poisoned arrow in his side,