In the deep gloom of yonder dell
Ambition’s blood-stain’d victims sigh’d;
While Time beholds, without a tear,
Fell Desolation hov’ring near,
Whose angry blushes seem to tell.
Here Juliana shudd’ring died!
[Footnote A: This palace, called the Mansion of Peace, is in the road and near to Elsineur; it was the retreat of the ambitious and remorseless Juliana Maria, the mother-in-law of Christian VII. whose intrigues and jealousy sent Brandt and Struensee to the scaffold, and drove the unhappy Matilda, the mother of the present King of Denmark, from her throne, and the arms of her royal husband. Juliana died here. The palace and grounds, parts of which are beautiful, were, when I visited them in 1804, much neglected.]
Upon the Admiration of the Valour and amiable Qualities of Lord Nelson, expressed by Junot, now Duke of Abrantes, who, by the Chances of War, was for a short Time the British Hero’s Prisoner.
A wreath from an immortal bough
Should deck that gen’rous victor’s brow,
Who hears his captive’s grateful praise
Augment the thanks his country pays;
For him the minstrel’s song shall flow,
The canvass breathe, the marble glow.
UPON A LADY DYING
Soon after she had been wrecked on the Cornish Coast,
LEAVING A LITTLE INFANT BEHIND HER.
Sweet stranger! tho’ the merc’less storm
Here sternly cast thy fainting form,
What tho’ no kindred hand was near
To wipe away Affliction’s tear,
Yet shall thy gentle spirit own,
Amidst these sea-girt shores unknown,
That Pity pour’d her balmy store,
And kindred hands could do no more.
Ne’er shall that pang disturb thy rest,
That moves the parted mother’s breast;
The object of thy dying fear
Shall want no father’s fondness here.
Oft shall his little lips proclaim,
With April-tears, thy treasur’d name;
His little hands, when summers bloom,
Shall gather flow’rs to deck thy tomb.
UPON A VERY PRETTY WOMAN ASKING THE AUTHOR HIS
OPINION OF BEAUTY.
Madam! you ask what marks for beauty pass:
Require them rather from your looking-glass!
TO THE MEMORY OF ERASMUS,
Inscribed on the Pedestal of the Statue raised in Honour of the former, in Rotterdam.
[The Original in Dutch.]
Hier rees die groote zon, en ging te Bazel onder!
De Rykstad eer’ en vier’ dien Heilig in zyn grav;
Dit tweede leeven geevt, die’t eerste leeven gav:
Maar ’t ligt der taalen, ’t zout der zeden, ’t heerlyk wonder.