Far, far, from thefe, and every foothing joy;
Art thou to dreary, friendless night confign'd;
And all the horrors of the rough rude storm.
The clofing eve, meantime with moisten'd lids,
Sunk flow, and fad, on ocean's troubled bed,
In fympathy of melancholy fate.
On the remorfeless main, her anxious eye
Almeria caft, where madnefs furious play'd,
And through the thick'ning mist did fancy paint
Laft friend of grief, the vessel's distant form,
That held the lord, the fharer of her heart.
Her children oft, O happy age! whom yet
Hope e'er delights, look'd through the darkning fcene,
And in imagination's picture faw
The bark, and hail'd their parent's bleft return:
And made more keen Almeria's frantic woe,
When e'en deceptive promife fail'd to cheat,
And dull, blank difappointment coldly frown'd.
Go wrap your fondling arms, ye fmiling babes!
Strain close your fainting mother's breast! kiss, kifs
Away the tears! that flowing fountains run,
And mingle pity's ftream, with her full tide.
She needs your every foothing art, your wiles
To mellow fharp diftrefs! for never more
Shall fhe fave in your fweetly-dimpling cheeks,
That picture fweet remembrance of paft love,
The unfading image of your fire behold.
Lafl fancy fail'd, and cruel frowning night
Denied e'en chearing hope, and rolling flow
In pitchy darknefs wrap'd the ruin'd fcene.
INVOCATION to FANCY and FORGETFULNESS to chafe away the Demon
MEMORY.
[From the PAINS of MEMORY, a POEM, by ROBERT MERRY, A. M.]
NOME then, creative Fancy! hither bend
Thy fportive flight, and prove thyself a friend;
Raife by thy potent fpells the castles fair,
Which charm the eye, thought built but in the air ;
Confole the poor with vifionary wealth,
And lure the fick man to the bow'rs of health;
To myrtie groves the panting lover bring,
And fcatter rofes from thy fairy wing;.
The maid ador'd, though faithlefs as the wind,
Shall there be ever constant, ever kind,
With fond approval listen to his tale,
Melt at his fighs, and let his vows prevail.
Thou bidft the foldier win, with proud delight,
The deathlefs laurel of imagin'd fight,
Spur his bold freed the routed foe to reach,
Or foremost, fword in hand, afcend the breach.
Thy magic influence makes the coward brave,
Gives eafe to anguish, freedom to the flave:
Yet, he alas! condemn'd for evermore,
To tug with hopeless toil the heavy oar,
To guide the galley thro' the boift'rous fea,
In ev'ry hour of refpite, flies to thee:
On the cold pallet ftretch'd, his pangs fubfide,
O'er his rapt thought thy pageant pleafures glide,
Bright views entrance him, foft illufions rife,
Diffolve his chains, and lift him to the skies.
The niggard wretch at thy benign command,
Feels with new tenderness his foul expand,
Wakens to charity, and grants relief,
At leaft in thought, to ev'ry human grief;
Then, to reward his fympathetic tears,
Invokes profperity, and length of years.
View'd thro' the medium of thy magic glafs,
The lovelieft fcenes in gay fucceffion pafs,
Each virtue glows in pureft tints array'd,
In native uglinefs is vice difplay'd:
For never yet has mortal predefign'd
Himself unjust, deceitful, or unkind,
To gain the prize on which he loves to brood,
The means are proper, and the end is good.
Where'er thou deignft thy cheering glance to throw,
Full harvests bend, falubrious rivers flow,
Long lakes their gloffy furfaces unfold,
And heaven is deck'd with more refplendent gold.
Spontaneous forefts cloathe the lonely heath,
And all creation brightens at thy breath.
Then Fancy, hither come, exert thy fway,
And chace the demon Mem'ry far away!
Thou too, Forgetfulness! whofe opiate charm
Can hush the paffions, and their rage difarm;
Approach, O kindly grant thy fuppliant aid!
Wrap him in fweet oblivion's placid fhade;
Veil the gay, tranfitory scenes, that fied,
Like gleamy funfhine o'er the mountain's head;
Sink in the dark abyss of endless night
The artificial phantoms of delight;
Nor let his early ign'rance, and mistake,
The fober blifs of age and reafon shake.
Hide from his heart each fuff'ring country's woe,
And o'er its chains thy cov'ring mantle throw;
Hide yon deluded agonizing train,
Who bleed by thoufands on the purple plain;
Their piercing cries, their dying groans controul,
And lock up all the feelings of his foul.
Shield him from flander's perfecuting race,
Who feek to wound, and labour to disgrace,
Who view the humbleft worth with jealous eye,
The viper brood of black malignity!
So fhall, perchance, content with thee return,
'Mongft vernal fweets to raise his wintry urn;
To his retreat tranquillity repair,
"And freedom dwell a penfive hermit there."
HOYLE LAKE, a POEM, written on that COAST, and addressed to its PROPRIETOR, SIR JOHN STANLEY.
[From LLANGOLLEN VALE, with other POEMS, by ANNA SEWARD.]
HEE, Stanley, thee, our gladden'd spirit hails,
Since life's first good for us thy efforts gain,
Who, habitants of Albion's inland vales,
Refide far diftant from her circling main.
Thefe lightfome walls, beneath thy generous cares
Arofe, the lawny fcene's convivial boast,
While at thy voice clear-cheek'd Hygeia rears
Her aqueous altars on this tepid coaft.
This coaft, the nearest to our central home,
That green Britannia's watry zone difplays,
Now gives the drooping frame a cheerful dome *,
Whofe lares fimile, and promife lengthen'd days.
When gather'd fogs the pale horizon fteep,
Falling in heavy, deep, continual rain,
If, cre the fun fink fhrouded in the deep,
His cryftal rays pervade the vapory train,
Dry are the tufty downs, diffufive fpread
O'er the light furface of the fandy mound,
Where e'en the languid form may fafely tread,
Drink the pure gale, and eye the blue profound.
Dear fcene!-that stretch'd between the filver arms
Of Deva, and of Merfey, meets the main,
And when the fun-gilt day illumes its charms,
Boafts of peculiar grace, nor boasts in vain.
The large and handfome hotel, built in the year 1792, by fir John Stanley, and which converts thefe pleafant downs into a commodious fea-bathing place.
Tho' near the beach, dark Helbrie's lonely isle,
Repofes fullen in the watry way,
Hears round her rocks the tides, returning, boil,
And o'er her dufky fandals dafh their spray.
Mark, to the left, romantic Cambria's coaft,
Her curtain'd mountains rifing o'er the floods;
While feas on Orm's beak'd promontory burst,
Blue Deva fwells her mirror to the woods.
High o'er that varied ridge of Alpine forms,
Vaft Moel-y-Fammau* towers upon the fight,
Lifts her maternal bosom to the storms,
And fcreens her filial mountains from their blight.
Far on the right, the dim Lancaftrian plains,
In pallid diftance, glimmer thro' the iky,
Tho', hid by jutting rocks, thy fplendid fanes,
Commercial Liverpool, elude the eye.
Wide in the front the confluent oceans roll,
Amid whofe reftlefs billows guardian Hoyle,
To fcreen her azure lake when tempefts howl,
Spreads the firm texture of her amber ifle .
And tho' the furging tide's refiftlefs waves
Roll, day, and night, its level furface o'er,
Tho' the fkies darken, and the whirlwind raves,
They froth,-but rufh innoxious to the fhore.
When fear-ftruck fea-men, 'mid the raging flood,
Hear thundering fhipwreck yell her dire decrees,
See her pale arm rend every fail, and shroud,
And o'er the high maft lift her whelming feas,
If to thy quiet harbour, gentle Hoyle,
The fhatter'd navy thro' the tempest flies,
Each joyous mariner forgets his toil,
And carols to the vainly angry fkies.
What tho' they vex the lake's cerulean ftream,
And curl its billows on the fhelly floor,
Yet, in despite of Fancy's timid dream,
Age, and infirmity, inay plunge fecure.
*Mocl-y-Fammau, the first word fpoken as one fyllable, as if fpelt Mole. The name fignifies in Welch Mother of Mountains, it is feen in the Hoyle-Lake profpect, behind the Flintshire hills, and confiderably higher than any of them.
↑ Amber Isle, the Sand Island, fix miles long, and four broad, which lying in the fea, a mile from thore, forms the lake; and breaking the force of the tides, conftitutes the fafety of that lake as an harbour and bathing-place.
How gay the scene when fpring's fair mornings break,
Or fummer-noons illume the graffy mound,
When anchor'd navies crowd the peopled lake,
Or deck the distant ocean's skiey bound.
Like leaflefs forests, on its verge extreme
Rife the tall mafts;-or fpreading wide their fails,
Silvering, and fhining in the folar beam,
Stand on that last blue line, and court the gales.
The peopled lake, of fong, and lively cheer,
And boatswain's whistle bears the jovial found;
While rofy pennants, floating on the air,
Tinge the foft feas of glass, that fleep around.
'Twas on thefe downs the Belgian hero fpread
His ardent legions in aufpicious hours,
Ere to lerne's hoftile fhores he led
To deathless glory their embattled powers.
When, like the conqueror of the Eastern world,
That ftemm'd with dauntless breast the Granic flood,
His victor-sword immortal William whirl'd,
And Boyne's pale waters dyed with rebel blood.
Since now, to health devoted, this calm fhore
Breathes renovation in its foamy wave,
For the kind Donor fhall each heart implore,
The good his energies to others gave.
That long on him clear-cheek'd Hygeia's fmile,
And long on all he loves, ferene may thine,
Who from thy fparkling coaft, benignant Hoyle,
Diffus'd the bleffings of her crystal shrine.
ODE on his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY.
BY HENRY JAMES PYE, ESQ. POET-LAUREAT.
WHERE are the vow's the Mufes breath'd,
That Difcord's fatal reign might ceafe?
Where all the blooming flow'rs they wreath'd,
To bind the placid brow of Peace;
King William encamped his army on the Hoyle lake downs, before he took fhipping from thence, on his victorious expedition to Ireland.
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