suff'ring child!
My heart but bleeds to hear thy musings wild.

TO THADDEUS.[*]

Farewel! lov'd youth, for still I hold thee dear,
Though thou hast left me friendless and alone;
Still, still thy name recalls the heartfelt tear,
That hastes Matilda to her wish'd-for home.

Why leave the wretch thy perfidy hath made.
To journey cheerless through the world's wide waste?
Say, why so soon does all thy kindness fade.
And doom me, thus, affliction's cup to taste?

Ungen'rous deed! to fly the faithful maid
Who, for thy arms, abandoned every friend;
Oh! cruel thought, that virtue, thus betray'd,
Should feel a pang that death alone can end.

Yet, I'll not chide thee--and when hence you roam,
Should my sad fate one tear of pity move,
Ah! then return; this bosom's still thy home,
And all thy failings I'll repay with love.

Believe me, dear, at midnight or at morn,
In vain exhausted nature strives to rest,
Thy absence plants my pillow with a thorn,
And bids me hope no more, on earth, for rest.

But, if unkindly you refuse to hear,
And from despair thy poor Matilda save;
Ah! don't deny one tributary tear,
To glisten sweetly o'er my early grave.

MATILDA.

[Footnote *: The above lines were written at the request
of a Lady, and meant to describe the feelings of one,
"who loved not wisely, but too well."]

_SONNET_.

TO A LYRE.

Friend of the lonely hour, from thy lov'd strain
The magic pow'r of pleasure have I known:
Awhile I lose remembrance of my pain,
And seem to taste of joys that long had flown.
When o'er my suffering soul reflection casts
The gloom of sorrow's sable-shadowing veil,
Recalling sad misfortunes chilling blasts--
How sweet to thee to tell the mournful tale!
And tho' denied to me the strings to move
Like heavenly-gifted bards, to whom belong
The power to melt the yielding soul to love,
Or wake to war, with energetic song.
Yet thou, my Lyre, canst cheer the gloomy hour,
When sullen grief asserts her tyrant pow'r.

ADDRESS TO ALBION.

To thee, O Albion! be the tribute paid
Which sympathy demands, the patriot tear;
While echo'd forth to thy remotest shade,
Rebellion's menace sounds in every ear.

Though Gallia's vaunts should fill the trembling skies,
'Till nature's undiscover'd regions start
At the rude clamor;--yet, shouldst thou despise,
While thy brave subjects own a common h