TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING

REPLY.

OH factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth;
What though our "nation's foes" lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great,
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name
Of him whose meed exists in endless fame?
When PITT expired in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscured his dying hour,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits "war not with the dead:"
His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave,
As all his errors slumber'd in the
grave;
He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state:
When, lo! a Hercules in Fox appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd:
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied,
With him our fast-reviving hopes have died;
Not one great people only raise his urn,
All Europe's far-extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue,
To give the palm where Justice points its due;"
Yet let not canker'd Çalumny assail,

Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil.
Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must

weep,

Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep;
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,
While friends and foes alike his talents own;

Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine,
Nor e'en to PITT the patriot's palm resign;
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For PITT, and PITT alone, has dared to ask. (1)*

THE TEAR.

"O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix in imo qui scatentem

Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."— Gray.

WHEN Friendship or Love our sympathies move,
When Truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear.

Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;

Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.

Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer,

As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

(1) The "illiberal impromptu" appeared in the Morning Post, and Lord Byron's "reply " in the Morning Chronicle.-E.

The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;

But he raises the foe when in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride, Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,

All his toils are repaid when, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth! (1) seat of Friendship and Truth,

Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more,
My Mary to Love once so dear,

In the shade of her bower I remember the hour
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest, may she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:

With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:

If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

(1) Harrow.

When my soul wings her flight to the regions of

night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier,

As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestow the splendour of woe
Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame shall blazon my name,
All I ask all I wish is a Tear.

October 26th, 1806.

REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS.

WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?

For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.

Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to

rove;

At first she may frown in a pet;

But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,

And then you may kiss

your coquette.

For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,

And humbles the proudest coquette.

Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret ;

If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny
That yours is the rosy coquette.

If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;

Some other admire, who will melt with your fire,
And laugh at the little coquette.

For me, I adore some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,

Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming coquette.

No longer repine, adopt this design,

And break through her slight-woven net;
Away with despair, no longer forbear
To fly from the captious coquette.

Then quit her, my friend! your bosom defend,
Ere quite with her snares you're beset:

Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the

smart,

Should lead you to curse the coquette.

October 27th, 1806.