SONNET.

THE BEGGAR.

Of late I saw him on his staff reclined,
  Bow’d down beneath a weary weight of woes,
Without a roof to shelter from the wind
  His head, all hoar with many a winter’s snows. 
All trembling he approach’d, he strove to speak;
  The voice of misery scarce my ear assail’d;
A flood of sorrow swept his furrow’d cheek,
  Remembrance check’d him, and his utt’rance fail’d. 
For he had known full many a better day;
  And when the poor man at his threshold bent,
He drove him not with aching heart away,
  But freely shared what Providence had sent. 
How hard for him, the stranger’s boon to crave,
And live to want the mite his bounty gave!

TO ------.

Come, JENNY, let me sip the dew
  That on those coral lips doth play,
One kiss would every care subdue,
  And bid my weary soul be gay.

For surely thou wert form’d by love
  To bless the suff’rer’s parting sigh;
In pity then my griefs remove,
  And on that bosom let me die!

SONG.

THE RECAL OF THE HERO.

When Discord blew her fell alarm
  On Gallia’s blood-stain’d ground,
When Usurpation’s giant arm
  Enslaved the nations round: 
The thunders of avenging Heaven
To NELSON’S chosen hand were given! 
By NELSON’S chosen hand were hurl’d,
To rescue the devoted world!

The tyrant power, his vengeance dread
  To Egypt’s shores pursued;
At Trafalgar its hydra-head
  For ever sunk subdued. 
The freedom of mankind was won! 
The hero’s glorious task was done! 
When Heaven, Oppression’s ensigns furl’d,
Recall’d him from the rescued world.

TO ELIZA.

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.

I dare not spoil this spotless page
  With any feeble verse of mine;
The Poet’s fire has lost its rage,
  Around his lyre no myrtles twine.

The voice of fame cannot recal
  Those fairy days of past delight,
When pleasure seem’d to welcome all,
  And morning hail’d a welcome night.

E’en love has lost its soothing power,
  Its spells no more can chain my soul;
I must not venture in the bower,
  Where Wit and Verse and Wine controul.

And yet, I fear, in thoughtless mirth
  I once did say, Eliza, dear! 
That I would tell the world thy worth,
  And write the living record here.

Come Love, and Truth, and Friendship, come,
  Enwreath’d in Virtue’s snowy arms,
With magic rhymes the page illume,
  And fancy sketch her varied charms—­

Which o’er the cares of home has thrown
  A thousand blessings, deep engraved,
For every heart she makes her own,
  And every friend is free-enslaved.

No Inspiration o’er my pen
  Glows with the lightning’s vivid spell;
My soul is sad—­forgive me then,
  My heart’s too full the tale to tell!