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:
Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.
When sinking low the Sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretcht 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!

SONNET.

TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON.

MILD Splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil;

And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud
Behind the gathered blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky.
Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.

ANTHEM

FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL.

SERAPHS! around th' Eternal's seat who throng
With tuneful extacies of praise :
O! teach our feeble tongues like

yours the song

Of fervent gratitude to raise-
Like you, inspir'd with holy flame
To dwell on that Almighty name
Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh,
And Joy in tears o'erspread the Widow's eye.

Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's

prayer;

The meek tear strongly pleads on high;
Wan Resignation struggling with despair.
The Lord beholds with pitying eye;
Sees cheerless want unpitied pine,
Disease on earth its head recline,

And bids compassion seek the realms of woe
To heal the wounded, and to raise the low.

She comes! she comes! the meek ey'd power

I see

With liberal hand that loves to bless; The clouds of sorrow at her presence flee; Rejoice! rejoice! ye children of distress! The beams that play around her head Thro' want's dark vale their radiance spread : The young uncultur'd mind imbibes the ray, And vice reluctant quits th' expected prey.

Cease, thou lorn mother! cease thy wailings drear;

Ye babes! the unconscious sob forego; Or let full gratitude now prompt the tear Which erst did sorrow force to flow. Unkindly cold and tempest shrill

In life's morn oft the traveller chill,

But soon his path the sun of Love shall warm; And each glad scene look brighter for the storm!

1789.

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 passed
And knows not whether he be first or last.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON.

O WHAT a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,
Babes, Children, Youths, and Men,

Night following night for threescore years and ten!
But doubly strange, where life is but a breath
To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep.

Away, Grim Phantom! Scorpion King, away!
Reserve thy terrors and thy stings display
For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of State!
Lo! by the grave I stand of one, for whom

A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom
(That all bestowing, this withholding all,)

Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome
Sound like a seeking Mother's anxious call,
Child! Home, weary Truant, home!

Return, poor

Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect