John Carr (Sir)

Wide thro' the azure blue and bright Serenely floats the lamp of night; The sleeping waves forget to move,

These shades were made for Love alone, - Here only smiles and kisses sweet Shall play around his flow'ry throne,

When stormy show'rs from Heav'n descend, And with their weight the lily bend, The Sun will soon his aid bestow,

Alas! but like a summer's dream All the delight I felt appears, While mis'ry's weeping moments seem

Thou, lamp! the gods benignly gave, To light a lover on his way; Thou, Moon! along the silv'ry wave,

See, the waves clasp the Sun, as he sinks from our sight, And Despair sullen rides on the wings of the night; Lo! he comes, and reproaches our arms with delay, -

Poor Molly O'Flannagan (Lord rest her soul!) Drank so deeply of whiskey, 'twas thought she would die; Her fond lover, Pat, from her nate cabin stole,

The Cit, relying on his trade, Which, like all other things, may fade, Longs for a curricle and villa:

Echo! thou sweet enchantress of the grove! Oh! cease to answer to the tones of love; Or teach my Delia in thine art divine,

To such extremes were I and Bet Perpetually driven, We quarrell'd every time we met,

ORIGINAL. Passant, ne pleure point son sort; Car, s'il vivait, tu serais mort.

How fairly Fortune all her gifts imparts; We win your money, Ann, and you our hearts.

Well with the purpose does the place agree; For e'en the very house is crack'd, you see.

By painful sickness long severely prest, Here sinks, on Nature's sacred lap of rest, A friend, who, in a life too short, display'd

Epitaph To The Memory Of A Worthy Man, The Rev. Mr. Sleep, Curate Of Kingswear Church, Devon, Whose Devotional Elocution Was Remarkably Impregnated With Soporific Qualities. Reader! since Parson Sleep is gone, And lies beneath yon humble stone,

Bristol! in vain thy rocks attempt the sky, The wild woods waving on their giddy brow; And vainly, devious Avon! vainly sigh

When men exert their utmost pow'rs, To while away the tedious hours, With soothing Flatt'ry's art,

The sign of the house should be chang'd, I'll be sworn, Where enchanted we find so much beauty and grace; Then quick from the door let the lion be torn,

By Beauty's caresses, like Cupid, half-spoil'd, Thus Music's and Poesy's favourite child Exclaim'd, - "'Tis, by Heaven! a terrible thing

Whilst, in a dress that one might swear The whole was made of woven air, Pert Fashion spreads her senseless sway

How like is childhood to the lucid tide That calmly wanders thro' the mossy dell, Sweeps o'er the lily by the margin's side,

Tell me, thou grotto! o'er whose brow are seen Projecting plumes, and shades of deep'ning green, - While not a sound disturbs thy stony hall,

Madam! you ask what marks for beauty pass: Require them rather from your looking-glass!

Adieu! dear girl! if we are doom'd to part, Take with thee, take, the blessing of this heart, Due to thy gentle mind, and cultur'd sense;

With horror dumb, tho' guiltless, stood Beside his dying friend, The hapless wretch who made the blood

Go, little flutt'rer! seek thy feather'd loves, And leave a wretched mourner to his woe; Seek out the bow'rs of bliss, seek happier groves,

When lovely Delphine sought the crowded scene, The painter's mimic pow'r no longer mov'd; All turn'd to gaze upon her beauteous mien,

In days that long have glided by, Beneath keen Scotia's weeping sky, On many a hill of purple heath,

Go, faithless bloom! on Delia's cheek Your boasted captivations try; Alas! o'er Nature would you seek

Tho' unknown is the hand that bestow'd thee on me, Sweet leaf! ev'ry fibre I'll warm with a kiss: With the fame of her beauty thou well dost agree,

These bays be thine; and, tho' not form'd to shine Clear as thy colour, faultless as thy line, Yet shall the Muse essay, in humble verse,

Written during a severe Winter. Why, trembling, silent, wand'rer! why, From me and Pity do you fly?

Oh! form'd to prompt the smile or tear, At once so sweet, yet so severe! As much for you as him I grieve;

Whose Timidity frequently agitated her, when pressed to gratify her Friends by her Musical Talents. 'Tis said (and I believe it too) That genuine merit seeks the shade;

Thou rear'st thy beauteous head, sweet flow'r Gemm'd by the soft and vernal show'r; Its drops still round thee shine:

Canst thou, Annette, thy lover see? His trembling love unfolded hear? And mark the while th' impassion'd tear,

Say, Delia, why, in muslin shade, Ah! say, dost thou conceal those eyes? Such little stars were never made,

Occasioned by a very amiable and generous Friend of mine munificently presenting Miss E.S. with a Donation of Fifteen Thousand Pounds. Oh, Fortune! I have seen thee shed A plenteous show'r of treasure down

Sweet guardian of the rosy cheek! Whene'er to thee I raise my hands Upon the mountain's breezy peak,

Once, for a palace, Painting left her grove, And taught her royal fav'rite's hand to trace A beauteous maiden's tale of little Love,

Tho', Julia, we are doom'd to part, Tho' unknown pangs invade this heart, For thee the light of love shall burn,

Oh! why does sorrow shade thy face, Where mind and beauty vie with grace? Say, dost thou for thy hero weep,

Upon Her Appearing At A Ball In An Elegant Plaid Dress, And Having Repeatedly Before Expressed Her Preference Of The Scotish Nation. Is it that plaided thus you wish to prove

I look'd the fragrant garden round For what I thought would picture best Thy beauty and thy modesty;

Since Friendship soon must bid a fond adieu, And, parting, wish your charms she never knew, Dear Laura hear one genuine thought express'd,

Tell me what taught thee to display A choice so sweet, and yet so rare, To prize the modest buds of May

Oft does the lucid pebble shine, Just cover'd by the murm'ring sea; Thus precious, thus conceal'd, it shews,

When Heav'n, sweet Laura! form'd thy mind, With genius and with taste refin'd, As if the union were too bright,

Within his cold and cheerless cell, I heard the sighing Censor tell That ev'ry charm of life was gone,

Tho' nought, amid these darkened groves, But various groups of death appear, Scar'd at the sight, tho' fly the Loves,

Oh! with what genuine pleasure do I trace Each line of that long-lov'd, accustom'd, face, Where Time, as if enchanted, and imprest

'Twas when the leaves were yellow turn'd, Selina, with the gentlest sigh, Exclaim'd, "For you I long have burn'd,

Upon His Approaching Nuptials With The Princess Shebatoff. To save the credit of the dame, Poets and painters all agree

O Study! while thy lovers raise Thy name with all the pow'r of praise, Frown not, thou nymph with piercing mind!

Dire were the horrors of that ruthless storm, That for young Lycid form'd a wat'ry grave; Oh! many wept to see his fainting form

[The Original in Dutch.] ORIGINAL. Hier rees die groote zon, en ging te Bazel onder!

Tyrant of all our loves and friendships here, Behold thy beauteous victim! - Ah! tis thine To rend fond hearts, and start the tend'rest tear

Ah, stranger! if thy pilgrim footsteps love, By meditation led, to wander here, A suff'ring husband may thy pity move,

- manibus date lilia plenis: Purpureos spargam flores. Aeneid, lib. vi.

Sing, bird of grief! still eve descending, And soothe a mind with sorrow rending; Ne'er may I see the blush of morrow,

Well on that neck, sweet Kitty! may you wear The sparkling cross, with hopes to soften Heaven; For trust me, tho' so very young and fair,

Sweet stranger! tho' the merc'less storm Here sternly cast thy fainting form, What tho' no kindred hand was near

The Moon had bespangled the murmuring wave, The dew-drop had moisten'd the moss of the cave, The summer night-breeze, like a sigh, was just heard,

In Mousseau's sweet Arcadian dale Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain; She charms the list'ning nightingale,

Much injur'd, Scotia! was thy genuine worth, When late the[A] surly Rambler wandered forth In brown[B] surtout, with ragged staff,

Gorgeous and splendid was the sight; From myriad lamps a fairy light Enshrin'd in wreaths the Gothic wall,

Upon its native pillow dear, The little slumb'rer finds repose; His fragrant breath eludes the ear -

When Time a mellowing tint has thrown O'er many a scene to mem'ry dear. It scatters round a charm, unknown

No sweeter verse did e'er inspire A kindred Muse with all its fire; Nor sweeter strains could Music lend,

From Mirth's bright circle, from the giddy throng, How sweet it is to steal away at eve, To listen to the homeward fisher's song,

Bless'd are the steps of Virtue's queen! Where'er she moves fresh roses bloom; And, when she droops, kind Nature pours

Amid the ruins of monastic gloom, Where Nore's meand'ring waters wind along, Genius and Wealth have rais'd the tasteful dome,

Still Summer lingers on these peaceful shores, Nor yet she quits her rose-erected bow'r; Tho' oft in many a dew-drop she explores

Reader! I do not wish to brag; But, to display Eliza's skill, I'd proudly be the vilest rag

In which the Author had taken Shelter during a violent Storm, Upon Seeing An Idiotic Youth Seated In The Chimney-Corner, Caressing A Broom. 'Twas on a night of wildest storms, When loudly roar'd the raving main, -

Tho' leafless are the woods, tho' flow'rs no more, In beauty blushing, spread their fragrant store, Yet still 'tis sweet to quit the crowded scene,

Delicious gloom! asylum of repose! Within your verdant shades, your tranquil bound, A wretched fugitive[A], oppress'd by woes,

When thoughtless Delia unconcern'd surveys Her plumy captive, as he leans to sing, Lo! while she smiles, the fascination stays

Ah! sweet romantic spot, adieu! Ere your green fields again I view, These looks may change their youthful hue.

Say, lovely Charlotte! will you let me prove What diff'rent thoughts thy taste and beauty move? This woven chain, which graceful skill displays,

Who supports herself, and an aged and infirm Mother, by selling Stockings and Gloves of her own Knitting, which she offers to Travellers as they pass by; in doing which she has been known to run close by the Side of a Carriage for several Miles. Poor Blind Bet. The morning purple on the hill,

Bless'd be thy slumbers, little love! Unconscious of the ills so near; May no rude noise thy dreams remote,

Streams ever limpid, fresh, and clear, Where Delia's charms renew'd appear, Ye flow'rs that touch'd her snowy breast,

'Tis pity, ev'ry maiden knows, Just as she cools, Love warmer grows; But, if the chill be too severe,

Given By Lieutenant-Colonel D ----    To His Friends In The Ruins Of Berry Castle, Devonshire.[A] By your permission, Ladies! I address ye, And for the boon you grant, my Muse shall bless ye.

To my Muse give attention, and deem it not a mystery If I jumble up together music, poetry, and history, To sing of the vices of wicked Queen Bess, sir,

Rebecca was the fairest maid That on the Danube's borders play'd; And many a handsome nobleman

A wreath from an immortal bough Should deck that gen'rous victor's brow, Who hears his captive's grateful praise

Ah! if my voice is heard in vain, This fond, this falling, tear May yet thy dire intent restrain,

Nature's imperfect child, to whom The world is wrapt in viewless gloom, Can unresisted still impart

No gentleman of England now sits at home at ease, But emulates on shore the heroes of the seas; A common cause unites them, to meet the daring foe,

Has Time a changeling made of thee? Oh! no; and thou art all to me: He bares the forest, but his pow'rs

When storms on the ocean Create high emotion, It pleases the wish

Here, far from all the pomp Ambition seeks, Much sought, but only whilst untasted prais'd, Content and Innocence, with rosy cheeks,

Ah! hapless stranger! who, without a tear, Can this sad record of thy fate survey? No angry tempest laid thee breathless here,

The leaves are flutter'd by no tell-tale gales, Clear melts the azure in the rosy west, Scarce heard, the river winds along the vales,

- "they show an outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dang'rous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;

ORIGINAL. N'offrant qu'un coeur ' la Beaut', Nud comme la Verit',

In a chariot of fire, thro Hell's flaming arch, The Fury of Discord appear'd; A myriad of demons attended her march,

Upon the breezy cliff's impending brow, With trembling step, the Hectic paus'd awhile; As round his wasted form the sea-breeze blew,

Awake, my Muse! awake each slumb'ring string, And (mighty subject!) of a Mushroom sing, Fair to the eye, and pleasant to the taste;

This is the favourite Song with the Inhabitants of the vine-covered Region of the Rhingau, an extensive District along the Banks of the Rhine, where the finest Wines are produced. ORIGINAL. Bekrantzt mit laub den liebe vollen becher,

By the walk of the willows I pour'd out my theme, The breath of the evening scarce dimpled the stream; By the waters I stood, like an image of Woe,

[The French is by Bosquillon, which I translated as under, in a beautiful Swedish island in the Baltic, as I sat by the side of a fine clear stream of rock-water.] ORIGINAL. La nymphe qui donne de cette eau

Oh, Time! thy merits who can know? Thy real nature who discover? The absent lover calls thee slow, -

Just as a fawn, in forest shade, Trembling to meet th' admiring eye, I've seen thee try to hide, sweet maid!

Emma! 'tis early time for thee To hear the sounds of minstrelsy, That breathe around the rosy shrine

Think not, thou pride of Summer's softest strain! Sweet dress of Nature, in her virgin bloom! That thou hast flutter'd to the breeze in vain,

Time, since thou gav'st this flow'r to me, Has often turn'd his glass of sand; Perchance 'tis now unknown to thee

Dearer to me, thou pile of dust! Tho' with the wild flow'r simply crown'd, Than the vast dome or beauteous bust,

[These Lines were written for a Lady who set them to Music.] My poor heart flutters like the sea Now heaving on the sandy shore;