Epistle 1, written at Shurton Bars

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems betterReceived from absent friend by way of Letter.For what so sweet can labor'd lays impartAs one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?

Anon.

NOR travels my meand'ring eyeThe starry wilderness on high;Nor now with curious sightI mark the glow-worm, as I pass,Move with "green radiance" thro' the grass.An Emerald of Light.

O ever-present to my view!My wafted spirit is with you,And soothes your boding fears:I see you all opprest with gloomSit lonely in that cheerless room——Ah me! You are in tears!

Beloved Woman! did you flyChill'd Friendship's dark disliking eye,Or Mirth's untimely din?With cruel weight these trifles pressA temper sore with Tenderness,When akes the Void within.

But why with sable wand unblestShould Fancy rouse within my breastDim-visag'd shapes of Dread?

Untenanting it's beauteous clayMy Sara's soul has wing'd it's way,And hovers round my head!

I felt it prompt the tender Dream,When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;You rous'd each gentler senseAs sighing o'er the Blossom's bloomMeek Evening wakes it's soft perfumeWith viewless influence.

And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moansThro' yon rest house! O'er rolling stonesIn bold ambitious sweep

The onward-surging tides supplyThe silence of the cloudless skyWith mimic thunders deep.

Dark-red'ning from the channel'd Isle(Where stands one solitary pileUnslated by the blast)The Watchfire, like a sullen starTwinkles to many a dozing TarRude cradled on the mast.

Ev'n there—beneath that light-house tower—In the tumultuous evil hourEre Peace with Sara came,

Time was, I should have thought it sweetTo count the echoings of my feet,And watch the storm-vex'd flame.

And there in black soul-jaundic'd fitA sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit,And listen to the roar:When mountain Surges bellowing deepWith an uncouth monster leapPlung'd foaming on the shore.

Then by the Lightning's blaze to markSome toiling tempest-shatter'd bark:Her vain distress-guns hear:

And when a second sheet of lightFlash'd o'er the blackness of the night—To see no Vessel there!

But Fancy now more gaily sings;Or if awhile she droop her wings,As sky-larks mid the corn,On summer fields she grounds her breast:Th' oblivious Poppy o'er her nestNods, till returning morn.

O mark those smiling tears, that swellThe open'd Rose! From heaven they fell,And with the sun-beam blend.Blest visitations from above,Such arc the tender woes of LoveFost'ring the heart, they bend!

When stormy Midnight howling roundBeats on our roof with clatt'ring sound,To me your arms you'll stretch:Great God! you'll say—To us so kind,O shelter from this loud bleak windThe houseless, friendless wretch!

The tears that tremble down your cheek,Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meekIn Pity's dew divine;And from your heart the sighs that stealShall make your rising bosom feelThe answ'ring swell of mine!

How oft, my Love! with shapings sweetI paint the moment, we shall meet!With eager speed I dart——

I seize you in the vacant air,And fancy, with a Husband's careI press you to my heart!

'Tis said, on Summer's evening hourFlashes the golden-colour'd flowerA fair electric flame.And so shall flash my love-charg'd eyeWhen all the heart's big ecstasyShoots rapid thro' the frame!