TO A PRIMROSE,

(THE FIRST SEEN IN THE SEASON.)

-nitens, et roboris expers

Turget et insolida est: at spe delectat.

OVID.

THY smiles I note, sweet early flower,
That peeping from thy rustic bower,
The festive news to earth dost bring,
A fragrant messenger of spring!

But tender blossom, why so pale?
Dost hear stern winter in the gale?
And didst thou tempt th' ungentle sky
To catch one vernal glance and die?

Such the wan lustre sickness wears,
When health's first feeble beam appears;
So languid are the smiles that seek
To settle on the care-worn cheek,

When timorous hope the head uprears,
Still drooping and still moist with tears,
If, through dispersing grief, be seen
Of bliss the heavenly spark serene.

1796.

ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD.

THIS day among the faithful placed,

And fed with fontal manna,

O with maternal title graced

Dear Anna's dearest Anna!

While others wish thee wise and fair,
A maid of spotless fame,

I'll breathe this more compendious prayer-
May'st thou deserve thy name!

Thy mother's name-a potent spell,
That bids the virtues hie
From mystic grove and living cell
Confess'd to fancy's eye;-

Meek quietness without offence;
Content in homespun kirtle;
True love; and true love's innocence,
White blossom of the myrtle!

Associates of thy name, sweet child!

These virtues may'st thou win;
With face as eloquently mild
To say, they lodge within.

So, when her tale of days all flown,
Thy mother shall be mist here;
When Heaven at length shall claim its own,
And angels snatch their sister;

Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
May gaze with stifled breath;
And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.

Ev'n thus a lovely rose I view'd,
In summer-swelling pride;

Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude
Peep'd at the rose's side.

It chanced, I pass'd again that way
In autumn's latest hour,

And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray
Rich with the selfsame flower.

Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name,

Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud,
Another and the same!

1796.

EPIGRAM.

HOARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verse

To all, and at all times;
And finds them both divinely smooth,
His voice, as well as rhymes.

Yet folks say " Mævius is no ass:"

But Mævius makes it clear,

That he's a monster of an ass,

An ass without an ear.

VOL. I.

E

1797.

INSCRIPTION BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES

IN NETHER STOWEY CHURCH.

LÆTUS abi! mundi strepitu curisque remotus;
Lætus abi! cæli qua vocat alma quies.
Ipsa Fides loquitur, lacrymamque incusat inanem,
Quæ cadit in vestros, care pater, cineres.
Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos solvere ritus,
Et longum tremula dicere voce, Vale!

TRANSLATION.

DEPART in joy from this world's noise and strife
To the deep quiet of celestial life!
Depart!-Affection's self reproves the tear

Which falls, O honour'd Parent! on thy bier;-
Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will swell,
And the voice tremble with a last Farewell!

INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE
DARK LADIE.

THE following poem is intended as the introduction to a somewhat longer one. The use of the old ballad word Ladie for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient

times, I trust that the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity, as Camden says, will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties explode around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old-fashioned love and five years ago, I own I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly uninspired with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of revolutions, as to those who have remained a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.

O LEAVE the lily on its stem;

O leave the rose upon the spray ;

O leave the elder-bloom, fair maids!
And listen to my lay.

A cypress and a myrtle-bough

This morn around my harp you twin'd, Because it fashion'd mournfully

Its murmurs in the wind.

And now a tale of love and woe,
A woful tale of love I sing;
Hark, gentle maidens, hark! it sighs
And trembles on the string.

But most, my own dear Genevieve,
It sighs and trembles most for thee!

1799.