Fugitive Pieces | Page 5

MISS ----.
Dear simple girl those flattering arts,
(From which you'd guard frail
female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of your
own creation;
For he who sees that witching grace,
That perfect
form, that lovely face;
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He
never wishes to deceive thee;
Once let you at your mirror glance,

You'll there descry that elegance,
Which from our sex demands such
praises,
But envy in the other raises.--
Then he who tells you of
your beauty,
Believe me only does his duty;
Ah! fly not from the
candid youth,
It is not flattery, but truth.
July, 1804.

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS, AT A GREAT PUBLIC
SCHOOL.
Where are those honours? IDA, once your own,
When Probus fill'd
your magisterial throne;
As ancient Rome fast falling to disgrace,

Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place;
So you degenerate share as
hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus_, where your _Probus sate.
Of
narrow brain, but of a narrower soul,
Pomposus, holds you in his
harsh controul;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid
jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new fangled
rules,
(Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools,)
Mistaking
pedantry_, for _learning's laws,
He governs, sanctioned but by self
applause.
With him, the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated
IDA! soon must stamp your doom;
Like her o'erthrown, forever lost
to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.
HARROW, July, 1805.

EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND.
Oh Boy! forever lov'd, for ever dear,
What fruitless tears have wash'd
thy honour'd bier;
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,

Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death.
Could tears have
turn'd the tyrant in his course,
Could sighs have check'd his dart's
relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or
beauty charm the spectre from his prey.
Thou still had'st liv'd, to bless
my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight:

Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble
name adorn,
To me, far dearer, was thy artless love,
Than all the
joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove. For thee alone I liv'd, or
wish'd to live,
(Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive)
Heart
broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy
turf-clad tomb;
Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest,
I'll
make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life,
I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;

This life resign'd without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of
earth we'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given,
Together
mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.
HARROW, 1803.

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DYING.
Animula! vagula, Blandula,
Hospes, comesque, corporis,
Quoe
nunc abibis in Loca?
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec ut soles dabis
Jocos.
TRANSLATION.
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite!
Friend and associate of this clay,

To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant
flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and

forlorn.
1806.

TO MARY.
Rack'd by the flames of jealous rage,
By all her torments deeply curst,

Of hell-born passions far the worst,
What hope my pangs can now
assuage?
2.
I tore me from thy circling arms,
To madness fir'd by doubts and
fears,
Heedless of thy suspicious tears,
Nor feeling for thy feign'd
alarms.
3.
Resigning every thought of bliss,
Forever, from your love I go,

Reckless of all the tears that flow,
Disdaining thy polluted kiss.
4.
No more that bosom heaves for me,
On it another seeks repose,

Another riot's on its snows,
Our bonds are broken, both are free.
5.
No more with mutual love we burn,
No more the genial couch we
bless,
Dissolving in the fond caress;
Our love o'erthrown will ne'er
return.
6.
Though love than ours could ne'er be truer,
Yet flames too fierce
themselves destroy,
Embraces oft repeated cloy,
Ours_ came too

_frequent, to endure.
7.
You quickly sought a second lover,
And I too proud to share a heart,

Where once I held the whole_, not _part,
Another mistress must
discover.
8.
Though not the first one, who hast blest me,
Yet I will own, you was
the dearest,
The one, unto my bosom nearest;
So I conceiv'd, when
I possest thee.
9.
Even now I cannot well forget thee,
And though no more in folds of
pleasure,
Kiss follows kiss in countless measure,
I hope you
sometimes will regret me.
10.
And smile to think how oft were done,
What prudes declare a sin to
act is,
And never but in darkness practice,
Fearing to trust the
tell-tale sun.
11.
And wisely therefore night prefer,
Whose dusky mantle veils their
fears,
Of this_, and _that, of eyes and ears,
Affording shades to
those that err.
12.
Now, by my foul, 'tis most delight
To view each other panting, dying.

In love's extatic posture lying,
Grateful to feeling_, as to _sight.

13.
And had the glaring God of Day,
(As formerly of Mars and Venus)

Divulg'd the joys which pass'd between us,
Regardless of his peeping
ray.
14.
Of love admiring such a sample,
The Gods and Goddesses
descending,
Had never fancied us offending,
But wisely_ followed
_our example.

When to their airy hall, my father's voice,
Shall call my spirit, joyful