Poems | Page 3

she did, and what she died--I hope you will excuse me: A gallant Earl a
miracle of passion for her fed, sir;
She kiss'd him, and she clos'd the
scene by striking off his head, sir!
Detested be, &c.
Oh! rude ungrateful Scotland! had thy desolated Queen, sir, No blue
eyes ever known, nor had she beauteous been, sir,
The envy of our
old rival hag she might have baffled, sir,
Nor with her guiltless blood
have crimson'd o'er the scaffold, sir.
Detested be, &c.
She dress'd just like a porcupine, and din'd just like a pig, sir, And an
over-running butt of sack she swallow'd at a swig, sir! Her brawny
maids of honour ate and drank confounded hard, sir, And droves of
oxen daily bled within her palace-yard, sir!
Detested be, &c.

In ruling she was wonderous tyrannical and surly;
If a patriot only
touch'd on the Queen or Master Burleigh,
She'd send a file of soldiers
in less than half an hour, sir, Just to bid him make his speeches to the
prisons of the Tow'r, sir!
Detested be, &c.
REBECCA,
A Ballad.
Rebecca was the fairest maid
That on the Danube's borders play'd;

And many a handsome nobleman
For her in tilt and tourney ran;

While fair Rebecca wish'd to see
What youth her husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the gossips say,
"Alone from dusk till midnight stay

Within the church-porch drear and dark,
Upon the vigil of Saint Mark,

And, lovely maiden! you shall see
What youth your husband is to
be."
Rebecca, when the night grew dark,
Upon the vigil of Saint Mark,

(Observ'd by Paul, a roguish scout,
Who guess'd the task she went
about,)
Stepp'd to St Stephen's Church to see
What youth her
husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the screech-owl cry,
And saw the black bat round her
fly;
She sat, 'till, wild with fear, at last
Her blood ran cold, her pulse
beat fast;
And yet, rash maid! she stopp'd to see
What youth her
husband was to be.
Rebecca heard the midnight chime
Ring out the yawning peal of time,

When shrouded Paul, unlucky knave!
Rose like a spectre from the
grave;
And cried, "Fair maiden, come with me.
For I your
bridegroom am to be."
Rebecca turn'd her head aside,
Sent forth a hideous shriek, and died!


While Paul confess'd himself, in vain,
Rebecca never spoke again!

Ah! little, hapless maid! did she
Think Death her bridegroom was
to be.
Rebecca! may thy story long
Instruct the giddy and the young.

Fright not, fond youths! the timid fair;
And you too, gentle maids!
beware;
Nor seek by lawless arts to see
What youths your husbands
are to be.
LINES
TO AN AURICULA, BELONGING TO ----.
Thou rear'st thy beauteous head, sweet flow'r
Gemm'd by the soft and
vernal show'r;
Its drops still round thee shine:
The florist views thee with delight;

And, if so precious in his sight,
Oh! what art thou in mine?
For she, who nurs'd thy drooping form
When Winter pour'd her
snowy storm,
Has oft consol'd me too;
For me a fost'ring tear has shed,--
She has
reviv'd my drooping head,
And bade me bloom anew.
When adverse Fortune bade us part,
And grief depress'd my aching
heart,
Like yon reviving ray,
She from behind the cloud would
move,
And with a stolen look of love
Would melt my cares away.
Sweet flow'r! supremely dear to me,
Thy lovely mistress blooms in
thee,
For, tho' the garden's pride,
In beauty's grace and tint array'd,

Thou seem'st to court the secret shade,
Thy modest form to hide.

Oh! crown'd with many a roseate year,
Bless'd may she be who plac'd
thee here,
Until the tear of love
Shall tremble in the eye to find

Her spirit, spotless and refin'd,
Borne to the realms above!
And oft for thee, sweet child of spring!
The Muse shall touch her
tend'rest string;
And, as thou rear'st thine head,
She shall invoke the
softest air,
Or ask the chilling storm to spare,
And bless thy humble bed.
LINES
TO LADY WARREN,
On the Departure of Sir John Borlase Warren, K.B.
TO TAKE THE COMMAND OF A SQUADRON.
Oh! why does sorrow shade thy face,
Where mind and beauty vie
with grace?
Say, dost thou for thy hero weep,
Who gallantly, upon
the deep,
Is gone to tell the madd'ning foe,
Tho' vict'ry laid our
Nelson low,
We still have chiefs as greatly brave,
Proudly
triumphant on the wave?
Dear to thy Country shall thou be,
Fair
mourner! and her sympathy
Is thine; for, in the war's alarms,
Thou
gav'st thine hero from thine arms;
And only ask'd to sigh alone,
To
look to heav'n, and weep him gone.
Oh! soon shall all thy sorrow
cease,
And, to thine aching bosom, peace
Shall quick
return;--another tear
To love and joy, supremely dear,
Shall give
thy gen'rous mind relief--
That tear shall gem the laurel leaf.
LINES
TO MISS ----,
ACCOMPANIED BY A ROSE AND A LILY.

I look'd the fragrant garden round
For what I thought would picture
best
Thy beauty and thy modesty;
A lily and a rose I found,--

With kisses on their leaves imprest,
I send the beauteous pair to thee.
SONG.
Nature's imperfect child, to whom
The world is wrapt in viewless
gloom,
Can unresisted still impart
The fondest