If writing Journals were my task,

From cottagers to kings—

A little book I'd only ask,

And fill it full of wings!

Each pair should represent a day:

On some the sun should rise,

While others bent their mournful way

Through cold and cloudy skies.

And here I would the light'ning bring

With threatening, forked glare;

And there the hallowed rainbow fling

Across the troubled air.

Some faint and wearily should glide

Their broken flight along—

While some high in the air should ride

Dilated, bold, and strong.

Some agitated and adrift,

Against their will should rove;

Some, steering forward, sure and swift,

Should scarcely seem to move—

While others, happiest of their kind!

Should in the ether soar,

As if no care would ever find,

No sorrow reach them more;

When soon an arrow from below

Should wound them in their flight,

And many a crimson drop should flow

Before they fell in sight.

The rapid and abrupt descent,

The stain'd and ruffled plume,

Would seem as if they were not meant

Their ardour to resume.

But soon their beauty and their force

Sweet hours of rest renew;

Full soon their light, their varied course

Careering they pursue.

Alternately to rise and fall,

Or float along the day—

And this is Fortune—This is all

I would vouchsafe to say!

Lucy, I think not of thy beauty,

I praise not each peculiar grace;

To see thee in the path of duty,

And with that happy, smiling face,

Conveys more pleasure to thy friend,

Than any outward charm could lend.

I see thy graceful babes caress thee,

I mark thy wise, maternal care,

And sadly do the words impress me,

The magic words—that thou art fair.

I wonder that a tongue is found

To utter the unfeeling sound!

For, art thou not above such praises?

And is this all that they can see?

Poor is the joy such flattery raises,

And, oh! how much unworthy thee!

Unworthy one whose heart can feel

The voice of truth, the warmth of zeal!

O Lucy, thou art snatch'd from folly,

Become too tender to be vain,

The world, it makes me melancholy,

The world would lure thee back again!

And it would cost me many sighs,

To see it win so bright a prize!

Though passing apprehensions move me,

I know thou hast a noble heart;

But, Lucy, I so truly love thee,

So much admire thee as thou art,

That, but the shadow of a fear,

Wakes in my breast a pang sincere.

This twilight gloom. This lone retreat—
This silence to my soul is sweet!
Awhile escap'd from toil and strife,
And all the lesser ills of life,
Here only at the evening's close,
My weary spirit finds repose;
My sinking heart its freedom gains,
Which poverty had bound in chains!

For here unheard the moments fly—
And so secure, so happy I,
That, often at the very last,
I feel not that my dream is past.
The little hour of bliss I spend,
With thee, my chosen, only friend!
That transient hour the heart sustains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!

And for this dear, this precious hour,
I would not, if I had the power,
Exchange a worldling's life of ease,
Whom all around him seek to please.
I have no other friend beside,
But here I safely may confide.
Suspicion ne'er the bosom stains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!

How oft I wonder at my lot!
How oft are all but thee forgot!
While in this half-despairing breast,
Love builds a little, quiet nest,
To hover o'er with joyous wing,
Nay, sometimes soar aloft and sing!
'Tis this alone the heart sustains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!

"Come, Edmund, now the sun goes down,

Thy many wanderings tell!

Say, after all thine eyes have seen,

If home appears so well!"

"So well! alas! ye do not know

How absence can endear!

In every hill, in every tree,

A thousand charms appear.

"The verdure of these English fields

Seems in my heart to glow—

There, as this shaded river winds,

I feel its waters flow.

"For, though I ventured forth so bold,

So long, so far did roam,

Affection, like a wayward child,

Still wept and murmur'd, home!

"I persevered, yet still I strained

The pleader to my breast;

I hush'd her cries, but as I chid

More fondly still carest.

"And when I met with foreign dames

Of grace and beauty rare—

I fancied one dear village girl

Like them: but oh! how fair!

"My early playmate! oft I humm'd

The lays she lisping sung!

And sigh'd when looking on the arm,

Where she at parting hung.

"Then, joy! within my native vale

To find my Ellen free!

To fancy others pleas'd her not,

Because she thought on me!

"So closely round a glowing heart

Did never flowers entwine!

Oh! ne'er was mortal spirit lull'd

With visions sweet as mine!"

Hope has her emblem, so has Love,

But I have vainly sought

For one, that might entirely prove

The picture of my thought.

If violets, when fresh with dew,

Could amaranthine be,

Their soothing, deep, and glowing hue

Would justly speak for me.

Or to some plant with tendrils fine,

With blossoms sweet and gay,

This office I would now assign;

But flowers will all decay!

A bird would suit my purpose more,

With filial heart endued;

But, ere their little life is o'er,

Birds lose their gratitude!

No emblem of the love I feel

Appears within my view;

Less ardent, or less pure the zeal,

Less tender, or less true!

All I can do is to avow,

My services are thine;

And that my spirit still shall bow,

Before my Valentine.

I look'd into her eyes,

And saw something divine,

For there, like summer lightning,

Swift coruscations shine.

Still flashing, and still changing,

Attemper'd soft and bright,

Through each expression ranging,

From pity to delight.

From high or zealous feeling,

From arch, excursive grace,

From all with which a lovely mind

Endows the human face.

Perhaps a new and careless eye

May not those beauties see,

And wonder to behold the power

Belinda has with me.

The spell which holds this captive soul

She never would possess,

Were not her varying features rul'd

By sparkling playfulness,

But when with aimless, trackless skill

Is twin'd a mazy chain,

In the warm foldings of a heart,

Perforce it must remain.

Come, Magdalen, and bind my hair,

And put me on my sad array;

I to my father's house repair,

And hear his final doom to-day.

But wrap me in that cypress veil;

At first his eye I would not brave,

'Till he shall bid the mourner hail,

And knows I come from Edwin's grave.

I, late his boast, his heir, his pride,

Must like a guilty vassal kneel;

I, who was gallant Edwin's bride,

Must to my widow'd state appeal!

Closely within my heart must keep

His praise for whom that heart is riv'n,

And let each fond resentment sleep,

For I must die or be forgiven.

Manuel, I do not shed a tear,

Our parting to delay!

I dare not listen to my fear!

I dare not bid thee stay!

The heart may shrink, the spirit fail,

But Spaniards must be free;

And pride and duty shall prevail

O'er all my love for thee!

Then go! and round that gallant head,

Like banners in the air,

Shall float full many a daring hope,

And many a tender prayer!

Should freedom perish—at thy death,

'T'were folly to repine—

And I should every feeling lose,

Except the wish for mine!

But if the destiny of Spain,

Be once again to rise,

Oh! grant me heaven, to read the tale,

In Manuel's joyful eyes!

I am unskill'd in speech: my tongue is slow

The graceful courtesies of life to pay;

To deck kind meanings up in trim array,

Keeping the mind's soft tone: words such as flow

From Complaisance, when she alone inspires!

And Caution, with a care that never tires,

Marshals each tribe of thoughts in such a way

That all are ready for their needful task,

The moment the occasion comes to ask,

All prompt to hear, to answer and obey;

When mine, undisciplin'd, their cause betray,

By coward falterings, or rebellious zeal!—

And Art, though subtle, though sublime thy sway,

I doubt if thou canst rule us, when we feel!

And didst thou think that worldly art
Would mould anew this shrinking heart?
No! as a bird, by storms opprest,
Is sheltered in its silent nest,
I nurse and soothe it in the strife,
Screen from the bleakest airs of life,
And bring it all that once you knew,
As kind, as timid, and as true!

But how could I so foolish be,
As not to feel a doubt of thee?—
This joy to find me still the same
Takes from my lip the power to blame;
Else, but forgive me, else I find
A mist has stolen o'er thy mind,
And veil'd my prospect; dimm'd that light
Which once was warm, and clear, and bright.

Go forth, my voice, through the wild air,

In the lone stillness of the night,

Beneath the cold moon's pale blue light;

Seek Eugenia, and declare,

As warmth and promise lurk below

A waste of lifeless, drifted snow;

So, while my lips inertly move,

While many heavy fetters bind,

And press upon my languid mind,

Oh! tell her not to doubt my love!

Affection still her hold shall keep,

Although her weary servants sleep.

Friendship to me is like a flower,

Yielding a balm for human woe,

I less than ever could forego;

More prized, more needed every hour!

Perchance it dies for want of care,

But as it withers, I despair!

'Tis said, that jealous of a name

We all would praise confine,

And choke the leading path to fame

In our peculiar line.

But vainly should detraction preach

If once I made it known,

The art of pleasing thou would'st teach

Acknowledg'd for thy own.

Yes! I can suffer, sink with pain,
With anguish I can ill sustain;
Till not a hope has strength to spring,
Till scarce a prayer can lift its wing;
Yet in my inmost heart there lies
A living fount that will arise,
And, of itself, diffuse a balm,
A healing and refreshing calm,
A pure delight, a cooling glow,
Which Hate and Meanness cannot know!

Yes! I can faint, and I can fear,
The power of petty creatures here,
Who trick dark deeds in gay disguise,
And weave their web of brooded lies,
With so few threads made smooth and fair,
All seems plain sense and reason there;
And yet I would not learn their art,
Nor have their paltry spells by heart,
Their rankling blood within my veins,
For all the treasure earth contains!

Oft, panic-struck, I sink, dismay'd,
Call, with expiring faith, for aid;
When all my efforts useless seem,
Emptied of force as in a dream,
My courage knows to persevere,
Entwin'd, o'ergrown, o'ertowered by fear!
As he who summoned in the night,
At sudden wreck, in wild affright,
Once throws his arms around a mast,
Continues still to hold it fast,
When sight and strength and aim are flown,
When cold, benumb'd, and senseless grown,
My soul, by hurrying tempests driven,
Though blinded from the light of Heaven,
Clinging, all hope, all comfort o'er,
Must yet awaken on the shore!

Talent and beauty, and the heart's warm glow,
Gilding with Heavenly light his path below,
Few with such rare felicity have won,
In that rich prize, a dear and only son;
And fewer but those faculties would doom
To the soft prison of a pamper'd home;
Check his bold wishes when they soar'd on high,
And see well-pleas'd each early vision die;
But ye, enweaving, as to me appears,
With his bright hopes, those of maturer years,
Hallowing the web, with all that parents feel,
The saintly trust in Heav'n, the patriot's zeal,
The aching doubts, that still tenacious wind
Around the lofty and the tender mind;
Ye, with a more than Roman virtue, yield,
To the proud strife of Albion's liquid field,
This darling; and, in whispers, bid him wear
The finest wreath that buds and blossoms there;
And I could almost say I heard a strain
Pronounce—the sacrifice should not be vain!

Behold the semblance of thy flower!

I could not fill its leaves with dew,

Shew its tints varying with the hour,

Its motion as the zephyrs blew.

And beauty too were more complete,

Appearing on the native stem,

In midst of buds and blossoms sweet,

And catching graces, charms from them.

Or blooming under eyes like thine,

Whose fond, soft gaze, whose tender tear,

Must also, losing power divine,

Awake no answering sweetness here.

For much of loveliness must sleep,

E'en when inspir'd and led by truth;

The faithful pencil aims to keep

Mildness and innocence and youth.

An Hour was before me, no creature more bright,
More airy, more joyous, e'er sprang on my sight.
To catch and to fetter I instantly tried,
And "thou art my slave, pretty vagrant," I cried.

I had hold, and securely I thought, of its wing,
O! how I shall glory, so lovely a thing
To place by the cradle of friendship, and see,
With the aid of my captive, if I can be free.

Oh! while she is with me, some means may be found
To temper the air and to hallow the ground—
To make those entangling bind-weeds decay,
Drive Suspicion, who rear'd them, for ever away,
And leave all around, kind, and healthful, and gay!

When this can be compass'd, I'll build me a bower,
And twine in the trellice each sweet-scented flower—
Rare, delicate plants, whose large, fresh leaves shall fling
Green shadows, where birds in the stillness may sing.

A place of repose, when the spirit is faint,
And the heart wants to utter a passing complaint:
Of safety; for pure and serene be the air,
And nothing unkind or unholy be there!

In this sacred retreat I my cares would confide,
And there my half-forming opinions should hide;
If true, gather strength for the brightness of day—
If false, in the shade, unreprov'd, die away!

How fondly I nourish'd these hopes, but in vain!
The calm and the stillness I could not retain;
My Hour fled away, every wish unfulfill'd,
And warm'd not the Friendship Suspicion had chill'd!

Hopes all glowing, Wishes rare,

Blessings mixed with many a Prayer,

Flowers as yet beyond compare,

Though flourishing in northern air.

Farewells twined with tender Fears,

Golden day-dreams, gemm'd with tears,

Affections nurtur'd many years,

Before this perfect bloom appears.

Thoughts of fondness and of pride,

Love-vanities we need not hide;

Heart-blossoms, in its crimson dyed,

For you, are here together tied.

And yet they all appear too poor,

Though goodness can ensure no more;

Though monarchs, whom the world adore,

Would purchase such with all their store.

And while this charmed gift we send,

We know where'er your footsteps bend,

The looks and tones that win the friend,

That kindness, nature, truth, attend,

Are yours, and must be with you still,

Angelic guards, go where they will,

To ward off much surrounding ill,

And happiest destinies fulfil.

Believing love was all a bubble,

And wooing but a needless trouble,

Damon grew fond of posied rings,

And many such romantic things;

But whether it were Fortune's spite,

That study wound his brain too tight,

Or that his fancy play'd him tricks,

He could not on the lady fix.

He look'd around,

And often found,

A damsel passing fair;

"She's good enough," he then would cry,

And rub his hands, and wink his eye,

"I'll be enamour'd there!"

He thus resolved; but had not power

To hold the humour "half an hour"—

And critics, vers'd in Cupid's laws,

Pretended they had found a clause,

In an old volume on the shelf;—

Which said, if arrows chanc'd to fly,

When no bright nymph was passing by,

And lighted on a vacant breast;

The swain, Narcissus-like possest,

Strait doated on himself!

If so, his anxious friends declar'd
All future trouble might be spar'd:
A heart thus pierc'd would never rove,
Nor meanly seek a second love;
No distance e'er could give him pain—
No rivalry torment his brain.
Self-love will bear a many knocks,
A thousand mortifying shocks;
One moment languish in despair,
The next alert and debonair.

Poor Damon bit his nails and sigh'd,
But still he was not satisfied;
He could not rest, nor be content,
Until to Cupid's court he went.
Of rules establish'd in the place,
Or, how to enter with a grace,
He own'd he neither knew nor car'd,
But thought such nonsense better spar'd,
And went undaunted and alone
To place himself before the throne.
He kiss'd no hand, he bent no knee,
Nor measur'd steps of one, two, three,
But made a careless, slouching bow,
And said, "Your highness will allow,
That I am personable, tall,
A rather handsome face withal,
And fit to serve as volunteer,
At least as any present here!
Purblind, and deaf, and long and short,
Without distinction here resort;
Whilst I, neglected and forgot,
Sate daily watching in my cot;
And scarcely stirr'd, for fear there might,
Arrive that morning or that night
A captaincy, or some commission,
For I confess I have ambition,
And think if none had done me wrong
I had not been o'erlook'd so long.
To come then, Sir, I thought my duty,
Oh! make me sensible to beauty!
The ice about my bosom melt!
Infuse a warmth it never felt!
I come uncall'd! excuse my boldness!
In truth I could not bear the coldness!"

Half piqued to see him thus intrude,

And question in a way so rude;

Half tickled at the strange address,

Cupid said gravely, "We confess

There may be reason in your plea;

But still we very much admire

Your entering in such strange attire!

We cannot such omissions see,

And countenance—It should appear,

You know not we are sovereign here!

The soldiers of our chosen band

Approach not till we give command.

We every look and action sway,

And they with prompt delight obey.

For height, and size, and such like things,

We care far less than other kings;

But station, learning, no pretence,

Can make us with our power dispense.

The warrior must not here look big,

The lawyer doffs his forked wig,

The portly merchant rich and free,

Forgets his pride and bends the knee;

The doctor gives his terrors scope,

And, like a patient, whines for hope;

In short the wise have childish fits,

And fools and madmen find their wits.

"Then go—this silly pride subdue,

And thou shall be our servant too!

Acquire the courtly way of speech,

Not, 'do you hear?' but, 'I beseech.'

And let a suitor's voice and air,

Thy grievances and zeal declare,

We never scorn a humble prayer!"

Expecting then a heart submiss,

He held him forth his hand to kiss;

For petrified the while he spoke,

With troubled wonder in his look

Poor Damon stood; aghast, suspended,

But gain'd his senses as he ended;

Abruptly turning on his toe,

"I thank you, Master Cupid, no!

I am a freeman and a brave,

And will not stoop to be a slave.

Your rules will never do for me,

I'd rather learn the rule of three—

"And since I find it is the plan,

To make me an automaton,

I'll case my heart in triple mail,

And fence it so completely round,

That all this vaunted skill shall fail,

Those blunted arrows back rebound;

For know, usurper! from this hour,

I scorn thy laws, abjure thy power!

From this dear moment I despise

The whole artillery of eyes;

Reason alone shall be my guide,

And Reason's voice shall win my bride.

Some bonny lass shall say I can

Love you as well as any man;

I will the self-same troth accord,

Most gladly take her at her word;

And we may just as happy prove

Without the fooleries of love.

She must not ask so much attention,

As many ladies I could mention;

But when I do not want to sway,

I'll always let her have her way;

And study to oblige her too,

When I have nothing else to do;

And am not tired, or wish to rest,

Or like some other plan the best,

For, more than this would be a task,

None but thy votaries would ask.

She must have riches, beauty, grace,

And modest sweetness in her face."

Just then he saw a scornful sneer

Upon Dan Cupid's face appear;

While courtiers whispered with a grin,

"Poor fellow, he'll be taken in!

The finest birds are always shy,

The rarest at a distance fly,

And Reason cannot soar so high."

"Aye, you may laugh, to prove her mind

At once exalted and refined,

I'll watch her skill in music's art;

By ear and fingers judge the heart,

And then it will not be believ'd

I can be easily deceiv'd.

I only grieve that in my prime

I've wasted so much precious time,

For long ere this I might have married,

Had I not so unwisely tarried,

And vex'd my brains in looking round

For that which never could be found."

"And would'st thou wish," the monarch cried,

"To set our gentle laws aside?

Thou hast no friend in Common Sense,

In such affairs she thinks it wisest,

To stand aside without pretence,

And sanction laws which thou despisest.

But try the plan, it merits praise,

Success may crown its winning ways!

The lady must be blind indeed,

With whom such offers of neglect,

And cool, habitual disrespect

Would not succeed.

But come no longer here to flout us,

Since, truly, thou canst do without us;

For dignity is lost in sport,

An outlaw for contempt of court;

We banish thee with all thy pride

Until thy heart be rarified."