Felix curarum, cui non Heliconia cordi

Serta, nec imbelles Parnassi e vertice laurus!
Sed viget ingenium, et magnos accinctus in usus
Fert animus quascunque vices.-Nos tristia vitæ
Solamur cantu

STAT. Silv., lib. iv. 4.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE.*

O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind!
As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping;
And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind,
O'er willowy meads and shadowed waters creeping,
And Ceres' golden fields;-the sultry hind
Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping.

1788.

GENEVIEVE.

MAID of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In Beauty's light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:

*See Note at the end of the volume..

Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.
When sinking low the Sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretched to save,
Fair, as the bosom of the Swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,

I've seen your breast with pity heave,
And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

THE RAVEN.

A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

UNDERNEATH an old oak tree

There was of swine a huge company,

That grunted as they crunched the mast:
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high:
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly:
He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melan-
choly!

Blacker was he than blackest jet,

Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
He picked up the acorn and buried it straight
By the side of a river both deep and great.

Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low,

Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travelled he with wandering wings:
Many Summers, many Winters-

I can't tell half his adventures.

At length he came back, and with him a She,
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a woodman in leathern guise,

of evil.

His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes the nature
He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length he brought down the poor Raven's own

oak.

His young ones were killed; for they could not

And their mother did die of a broken heart.

The boughs from the trunk the Woodman did

sever;

And they floated it down on the course of the river.

strip,

They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did [ship. And with this tree and others they made a good The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.

It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast: 'Round and round flew the Raven, and cawed to the blast.

He heard the last shriek of the perishing soulsSee! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls!

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: They had taken his all, and Revenge it was sweet!

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.

AN ALLEGORY.

ON the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!

That far outstripp'd the other;

Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind:
For he, alas! is blind!

O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd,
And knows not whether he be first or last.