[Disillusioned.]

And wilt thou never smile again, Thy cruel purpose never shaken? Hast thou no feeling for my pain, Refused, disdain’d, despised, forsaken?

Thy uncle crafty, careful, cold, His wealth upon my mind imprinted; His fields described, and praised his fold, And jested, boasted, promised, hinted.

Thy aunt—I scorn’d the omen—spoke Of lovers by thy scorn rejected; But I the warning never took, When chosen, cheer’d, received, rejected.

Thy brother, too—but all was plann’d To murder peace, all freely granted; And then I lived in fairy land, Transported, bless’d, enrapt, enchanted.

Oh, what a dream of happy love, From which the wise in time awaken; While I must all its anguish prove, Deceived, despised, abused, forsaken!

[LINES] FROM A DISCARDED POEM, ENCLOSED, AT MRS LEADBEATER’S REQUEST, FOR THOMAS WILKINSON’S COLLECTION OF HANDWRITINGS.

One calm, cold evening, when the moon was high, And rode sublime within the cloudy sky, She sat within her hut, nor seem’d to feel Or cold, or want, but turn’d her idle wheel; And with sad song its melancholy tone Mix’d—all unconscious that she dwelt alone.

ON THE DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY.

(Hampstead, November 6, 1818.)

* * * * *

“Thus had I written—so a friend advised, Whom as the first of counsellors I prized; The best of guides to my assuming pen, The best of fathers, husbands, judges, men. ‘This will he read,’ I said, ‘and I shall hear } Opinion wise, instructive, mild, sincere; } For I that mind respect, for I the man revere.’ } “I had no boding fear, but thought to see Those who were thine, who look’d for all to thee; And thou wert all! there was, when thou wert by, Diffused around the rare felicity That wisdom, worth, and kindness can impart, To form the mind and gratify the heart. “Yes! I was proud to speak of thee as one Who had approved the little I had done, And taught me what I should do!—Thou wouldst raise My doubting spirit by a smile of praise And words of comfort! great was thy delight } Fear to expel, and ardour to excite, } To wrest th’ oppressor’s arm, and do the injured right. 20} “Thou hadst the tear for pity, and thy breast Felt for the sad, the weary, the oppress’d! And now, afflicting change! all join with me, And feel, lamented ROMILLY, for thee.”

LINES.

(Edinburgh, August 15, 1822.)

Of old, when a Monarch of England appear’d In Scotland, he came as a foe; There was war in the land, and around it were heard Lamentation, and mourning and woe.

In the bordering land, which the Muses love best, Was one whom they favour’d of old; With a view of the future his mind they impressed, And gave him the power to unfold.

“Come, strike me the harp, and my spirit sustain, That these visions of glory annoy; While I to the Chieftains of Scotland explain What their Sons shall hereafter enjoy!

“I see, but from far—I behold, but not near— When war on the Border shall cease, New cities will rise, and the triumphs appear Of Riches, and Science, and Peace.

“O give me to breathe, while this scene I describe: A Monarch in Scotland I see, When she pours from her Highlands and Lowlands each tribe, Who are loyal, and happy, and free.

“The Islands at rest in their Sovereign rejoice; Lo, the power and the wealth they display! And there comes from the lands and the waters a voice, From the Shannon, the Thames, and the Tay.

“‘All hail to our King!’ is the shout of the crowd; I see them, a shadowy throng; They are loyally free, are respectfully proud, And Joy to their King is their song.

“Yet bear up, my soul, ’tis a theme of delight, That thousands hereafter shall sing; How Scotland, and England, and Ireland unite In their Glory, their Might, and their King.

“Aloud strike the harp, for my bosom is cold And the sound has a charm on my fears— A City new-clothed as a Bride I behold, And her King as her Bridegroom appears.

“’Tis he whom they love, and who loves them again, Who partakes of the joy he imparts; Who over three nations shall happily reign, And establish his throne in their hearts.”