Love, that watch'd my early years With conflicting hopes and fears; Love, that through life's flowery May Led my childhood, prone to stray; Love, that still directs my youth With the constancy of Truth, Heightens every bliss it shares, Softens and divides the cares, Smiles away my light distress, Weeps for joy, or tenderness: -May that love, to latest age, Cheer my earthly pilgrimage; May that love, o'er death victorious, Rise beyond the grave more glorious; Souls, united here, would be

One to all eternity.

When these eyes, from native night, First unfolded to the light, On what object, fair and new, Did they fix their fondest view? On my Mother's smiling mien; All the mother there was seen. When their weary lids would close, And she sang me to repose,

Found I not the sweetest rest

On my Mother's peaceful breast?
When my tongue from hers had caught
Sounds to utter infant thought,

Readiest then what accents came?
Those that meant my Mother's name.
When my timid feet begun,
Strangely pleased, to stand or run,
'Twas my Mother's voice and eye
Most encouraged me to try,
Safe to run, and strong to stand,
Holding by her gentle hand.

Time since then hath deeper made

Lines, where youthful dimples play'd,

Yet to me my Mother's face
Wears a more angelic grace;
And her tresses, thin and hoary,
Are they not a crown of glory?
-Cruel griefs have wrung that breast,
Once Paradise of rest;

my

While in these I bear a part,

Warmer grows my Mother's heart,
Closer our affections twine,

Mine with hers, and hers with mine.
—Many a name, since hers I knew,
Have I loved with honour due,
But no name shall be more dear

Than my Mother's to mine ear.
—Many a hand that Friendship plighted,
Have I clasp'd with all delighted,
But more faithful none can be
Than my Mother's hand to me.
Thus by every tie endear'd,
Thus with filial reverence fear'd,
Mother! on this day 'tis meet
That, with salutation sweet,
I should wish you years of health,
Worldly happiness and wealth,
And when good old age is past,
Heaven's eternal peace at last!
But with these I frame a vow
For a double blessing now;
One, that richly shall combine
Your felicity with mine;

One, in which with soul and voice,
Both together may rejoice;

Oh! what shall that blessing be?
-Dearest Mother! may you see
All your prayers fulfill'd for me!

ON FINDING THE FEATHERS OF A LINNET

SCATTERED ON THE GROUND IN A SOLITARY WALK.

THESE little relics, hapless bird!

That strew the lonely vale,
With silent eloquence record
Thy melancholy tale.

Like Autumn's leaves, that rustle round

From every withering tree,

These plumes, dishevell'd o'er the ground,

Alone remain of thee.

Some hovering kite's rapacious maw
Hath been thy timeless grave:
No pitying eye thy murder saw,
No friend appear'd to save.

Heaven's thunder smite the guilty foe!
No-spare the tyrant's breath,
Till wintry winds, and famine slow,
Avenge thy cruel death!

But every feather of thy wing

Be quicken'd where it lies,
And at the soft return of spring,
A fragrant cowslip rise!

Few were thy days, thy pleasures few,
Simple and unconfined;

On sunbeams every moment flew,

Nor left a care behind.

In spring to build thy curious nest,
And woo thy merry bride,
Carol and fly, and sport and rest,
Was all thy humble pride.

Happy beyond the lot of kings,

Thy bosom knew no smart,

1796.

Till the last pang, that tore the strings
From thy dissever'd heart.

When late to secret griefs a prey
I wander'd slowly here,
Wild from the copse an artless lay,
Like magic, won mine ear.

Perhaps 'twas thy last evening song,

That exquisitely stole

In sweetest melody along,

And harmonized my soul.

Now, blithe musician! now no more,
Thy mellow pipe resounds,
But jarring drums at distance roar,

And yonder howl the hounds:

The hounds that through the echoing wood

The panting hare pursue;

The drums, that wake the cry of blood,

The voice of Glory too!

Here at my feet thy frail remains,

Unwept, unburied, lie,

Like victims on embattled plains,

Forsaken where they die.

Yet could the muse whose strains rehearse

Thine unregarded doom,

Enshrine thee in immortal verse,

Kings should not scorn thy tomb.

Though brief as thine my tuneful date,
When wandering near this spot,
The sad memorials of thy fate

Shall never be forgot.

While doom'd the lingering pangs to feel

Of many a nameless fear,

One truant sigh from these I'll steal,
And drop one willing tear.

OCCASIONAL ODE

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE ROYAL BRITISH SYSTEM OF

EDUCATION,

HELD AT FREEMASON'S HALL, MAY 16, 1812.

THE lion, o'er his wild domains,
Rules with the terror of his eye;
The eagle of the rock maintains

By force his empire in the sky;

The shark, the tyrant of the flood,

Reigns through the deep with quenchless rage :
Parent and young, unwean'd from blood,

Are still the same from age to age.

Of all that live, and move, and breathe,
Man only rises o'er his birth;

He looks above, around, beneath,

At once the heir of heaven and earth:
Force, cunning, speed, which Nature gave
The various tribes throughout her plan,
Life to enjoy, from death to save,-

These are the lowest powers of Man.

From strength to strength he travels on:
He leaves the lingering brute behind;
And when a few short years are gone,
He soars, a disembodied mind:
Beyond the grave, his course sublime
Destined through nobler paths to run,
In his career the end of Time
Is but Eternity begun.

What guides him in his high pursuit,
Opens, illumines, cheers his way,
Discerns the immortal from the brute,

God's image from the mould of clay?