Canker'd with filth, infection, debt and want;
My home a brothel, and the street my haunt;
Full seven long years of infamy I pin'd,
And fondled, loath'd, and prey'd upon mankind :
Till, all the drudgery of vice gone through,
My batter'd fabric fails at twenty-two;
And Death, with ev'ry terror in his train,
Here clos'd the scene of riot, guilt, and pain.
Ye fair associates of my op'ning bloom,
O come and weep, and profit at my tomb!
Let my short youth and blighted beauty prove
The fated venom of unlawful love :
O think how quick my foul career I ran,
A sacrifice to falsehood, lust, and man!
Then shun the paths, where Passion's meteors shine
Your's be the lesson; all th' experience mine!
Like a pale, disastrous planet,
O'er the purple tide of war."
The celebrated author of the "Pleasures of Hope," &e.
Nor age nor tempest yet could wound-
His root so deep, his heart so sound.
Thus Parker, thro' his life's whole race,
In every station, every place,
Pursu'd the sure, unerring plan,
A learned judge, an upright man ;
Ne'er could the statesman's smile or frown
Warp him in favour of the crown;
Or wish of popular applause
Pervert his judgment of the laws.
Unmov'd by either, fix'd he stood
On this firm base, his country's good:
And all he acted, thought, or spoke,
Prov'd his true heart, a heart of oak.
By Sir WILLIAM YOUNG, Bart.
(Never before published.)
1st. THE MORNING ON THE ALPS.-1775.
"Despicere unde queas alius, passimque videre
"Errare, atque viam palantes quærere vita."
Lucret. L. 2d.
HE dawn now faintly glimmers from the east, Slowly it breaks the misty web of night: Rise, sluggard, rise-to Nature's noblest feast! A beauteous world unfolding to the light.
And now the sun his orb in blushes shews;
And, as he speeds the chariot of the day,
Over yon soaring mount's eternal snows,
Myriads of nascent pearls adorn his way.
And now he strippeth the frost-clothed leaf,
And the thrush grateful doth his bounty hail;
Nor sight of woe is seen-nor note of grief,
Saddens the echoes of the distant vale.
For now the wanton kid may safely play,
Brouze on the Arbutus-or sip the flood;
Sport on the rocks, or through the thickets stray,
Nor fear the lurking savage of the wood,
Adown the slipp'ry clift, the rugged bear
Slinks from the breaking morn, and homeward hies; The wolf's low growl hangs faintly on the ear, And much he starts, and fears discovering eyes.
Let murder, haunting the incautious foe,
Veil in the shrowd of night the vengeful deed,
Bid the pale moon direct the trembling blow;
And scarce in conscience view its victim bleed!
Let treach'ry prowl through the domain of sleep,
Unseen-unknown, but by the mischief done!
Let low-born theft nocturnal vigils keep,
When strength and caution all to rest are gone!
'Tis not for such-with pleasure to descry
Th ascendant lumin'ry of day:
Emblem of 'ts great Creator's piercing eye,
What crime dare face the penetrating ray!
Hark! 'tis the rustling of the pine, whose leaf
Gathers the rude breath of the coming storm!
Mark-how yon cloud doth robe in vest of grief
The glorious orb, and all his scenes deform!
So oft retires the good man's blasted fame
From Envy's scowl, or low'ring Fortune's frown,
Yet in some happier period to reclaim
Its native rank i'th' records of renown.
The noblest worth of patriots and of kings,
Bears not the palm, till mix'd with common clay:
"Tis from the ashes that the Phoenix springs,
Which claims our wonder, and the poet's lay.
List! how the hail doth beat the babbling brook!
Mark!-where the whirlwind bears yon mist of snow
The fir-beam crackling waves--the rock is shook-
Fly trav❜ller fly! nor shelter there below!
Full many a deep-fetch'd, heart-broke sigh shall heave!
And many a dragging weary step be told;
And torrents stop-and treach'rous snows deceive
Thy listless foot, c'er thou thy home behold.
With fear thou❜lt pause to view the nodding clift;
With pain oft shudder on the icy lea;
With sad despondency thy wan look lift
From yon high hill, an higher hill to see!
Sad emblem of thy days! thus fair and frail
The visionary path of life is seen!
Thus hope doth mock, and danger doth assail,
And anguish shadow o'er the motley scene!
Each to some distant point a look directs,
Whilst Fancy talks of gardens there behind,
Speeds fondly to the summit-nor suspects
The guest disconsolate, he there shall find.
There sad Experience, pond'ring o'er her glass,
Marks the vain pilgrim struggling from below,
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