Poems (1828) | Page 9

TO A FRIEND.
Give me the wreath of friendship true,
Whose flowerets fade not in a
breath:
From memory gaining many a hue,
To bloom beyond the
touch of death.
And I will send it to thy home--
Thy home beloved, my faithful
friend!
And pray for its perpetual bloom
And every bliss that earth
can send.
Within its magic wreath I'd place
Hearts'-ease and every lovely

flower;
To win thee by their matchless grace,
And cheer and bless
the lonely hour.
When at the world's unkind return
Of all thy worth, and all thy care,

Thou may'st in spite of manhood turn,
And shed the sad, the bitter,
tear.
Then, midst this holy grief of thine,
The thought of some true friend
may bless,
And cheer the gloom like angel's smile,
Or sunbeam in a
wilderness.
And could I hope I had a claim
On thee in such a rapturous hour?

Oh! that, indeed, I'd own were fame.
The saving ark of friendship's
power.
Or that, in future years, thy babes
Should o'er this frail memorial
bend,
(For first affection rarely fades!)
And boast that I was once
the friend
Whose wit, or worth, possess'd a charm,
By Parents loved, and them
caress'd.
That spell would every sorrow calm,
And bid my anxious
spirit rest!
HERE IN OUR FAIRY BOWERS WE DWELL.
A GLEE.
Sung by Messrs. GOULDEN, PYNE, and NELSON.--Composed by

Mr. ROOKE.
Here, in our fairy bowers, we dwell,
Women our idol, life's best
treasure!
Echo enchanted joys to tell,
Our feast of laugh, of love,
and pleasure.
Say, is not this then bliss divine,
Beauty's smiles and rosy wine?

Eternal mirth and sunshine reign,
For grief we cannot find the leisure;

Night's social gods have banish'd pain,
Morn lights us to increasing
pleasure.
Say, is not this then bliss divine,
Beauty's smiles and rosy wine?
Here in our fairy bowers, &c.
HENRY AND ELIZA.
O'er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung,
And night's dark
pencil dimm'd the tints of spring;
The boding minstrel now harsh
omens sung,
And the bat spread his dark nocturnal wing.
At that still hour, pale Cynthia oft had seen
The fair Eliza (joyous
once and gay),
With pensive step, and melancholy mien,
O'er the
broad plain in love-born anguish stray.
Long had her heart with Henry's been entwined,
And love's soft voice
had waked the sacred blaze
Of Hymen's altar; while, with him
combined,
His cherub train prepared the torch to raise:
When, lo! his standard raging war uprear'd,
And honour call'd her
Henry from her charms.
He fought, but ah! torn, mangled,
blood-besmear'd,
Fell, nobly fell, amid his conquering arms!
In her sad bosom, a tumultuous world
Of hopes and fears on his dear
mem'ry spread;
For fate had not the clouded roll unfurl'd,
Nor yet
with baleful hemlock crown'd her head.
Reflection, oft to sad remembrance brought
The well known spot,
where they so oft had stray'd;
While fond affection ten-fold ardour
caught,
And smiling innocence around them play'd.
But these were past! and now the distant bell
(For deep and pensive
thought had held her there)
Toll'd midnight out, with long resounding

knell,
While dismal echoes quiver'd in the air.
Again 'twas silence--when from out the gloom
She saw, with
awe-struck eye, a phantom glide:
'Twas Henry's form!--what pencil
shall presume
To paint her horror!----HENRY AS HE DIED!
Enervate, long she stood--a sculptured dread,
Till waking sense
dissolved amazement's chain;
Then home, with timid haste, distracted
fled,
And sunk in dreadful agony of pain.
Not the deep sigh, which madden'd Sappho gave,
When from
Leucate's craggy height she sprung,
Could equal that which gave her
to the grave,
The last sad sound that echo'd from her tongue.
WRITTEN ON THE
DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds
The world shall gaze with
wonder and applause,
While, on fair History's page, the patriot reads

Thy matchless virtue in thy Country's cause.
Yes, it was thine, amid destructive war,
To shield it nobly from
oppression's chain;
By justice arm'd, to brave each threat'ning jar,

Assert its freedom, and its rights maintain.
Much honour'd Statesman, Husband, Father, Friend,
A generous
nation's grateful tears are thine;
E'en unborn ages shall thy worth
commend,
And never-fading laurels deck thy shrine.
Illustrious Warrior! on the immortal base,
By Freedom rear'd, thy
envied name shall stand;
And Fame, by Truth inspired, shall fondly
trace
Thee, Pride and Guardian of thy Native Land!
To----.

In vain, sweet Maid! for me you bring
The first-blown blossoms of
the spring;
My tearful cheek you wipe in vain,
And bid its pale rose
bloom again.
In vain! unconscious, did I say?
Oh! you alone these tears can stay;

Alone, the pale rose can renew,
Whose sunshine is a smile from you.
Yet not in friendship's smile it lives;
Too cold the gifts that friendship
gives:
The beam that warms a winter's day,
Plays coldly in the lap
of May.
You bid my sad heart cease to swell,
But will you, if its tale I tell,

Nor turn away, nor frown the while,
But smile, as you were wont to
smile?
Then bring me not the blossoms young,
That erst on Flora's forehead
hung;
But round thy radiant temples twine,
The flowers whose
flaunting mocks at mine.
Give me--nor pinks, nor pansies gay,
Nor violets, fading fast away,

Nor myrtle, rue, nor