TO.............

AN IMPROMTU.

O Sub! you certainly have been,
  A little raking, roguish creature,
And in that face may still be seen,
  Each laughing loves bewitching feature!

For thou hast stolen many a heart—­
  And robb’d the sweetness of the rose;
Plac’d on that cheek, it doth impart
  More lovely tints, more fragrant blows!

Yes, thou art nature’s favorite child,
  Array’d in smiles, seducing, killing;
Did Joseph live, you’d drive him wild,
  And set his very soul a thrilling!

A poet, much too poor to live,
  Too poor, in this rich world to rove,
Too poor, for aught but verse to give,
  But not, thank God, too poor to love!

Gives thee his little doggerel lay—­
  One truth I tell, in sorrow tell it,
I’m forc’d to give my verse away,
  Because, alas!  I cannot sell it.

And should you with a critic’s eye,
  Proclaim me ’gainst the Muse a sinner,
Reflect, dear girl! that such as I,
  Six times a week don’t get a dinner.

And want of comfort, food, and wine,
  Will damp the genius, curb the spirit: 
These wants I’ll own are often mine;
  But can’t allow a want of merit.

For every stupid dog that drinks
  At poet’s pond, nicknam’d divine: 
Say what he will, I know he thinks
  That all he writes is devilish fine!

SONNET.

NIGHT.

Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,
  See want and infamy as forth they come,
  Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,
To woo the stranger for unhallow’d bread. 
Poor outcast! o’er thy sickly-tinted cheek
  And half-clad form, what havock want hath made;
  And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all thy soul’s sad sorrow seems to speak. 
O miserable state! compell’d to wear
  The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast
  Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne’er possess’d;
Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear! 
Oh, GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside,
And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.

HENRY AND ELIZA

O’er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung,
  And night’s dark pencil dim’d the tints of spring;
The boding minstrel now harsh omens sung,
  And the bat spread his dark, nocturnal wing.

At that still hour, pale Cynthia oft had seen
  The fair Eliza, (joyous once and gay,)
With pensive step, and melancholy mien,
  O’er the broad plain in love-born anguish stray.

Long had her heart with Henry’s been entwin’d
  And love’s soft voice had wak’d the sacred blaze
Of Hymen’s altar; while, with him combin’d,
  His cherub train prepar’d the torch to raise: 

When, lo! his standard raging war uprear’d,
  And honor call’d her Henry from her charms. 
He fought, but ah! torn, mangled, blood-besmear’d,
  Fell, nobly fell, amid his conquering arms!