Genius! presumptuous reason may not dare
Thy bounds to scan;

But where is love, and liberty, and man,
Genius, thou wilt be there!

IMPROMPTU

WRITTEN IN THE

IRISH MELODIES OF MY DAUGHTER, S. I. 1809.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

THO' o'er the wild notes of thy native isle,
The novel grace of STEVENSON be thrown;
As beauty points her arrows with a smile,

And VENUS ow'd her witchcraft to a zone:
Tho' still the strain of CAROLAN must charm,
Your song, IERNE's daughters! still endure;
Pure, as it flows, with richer colours warm,
With all the wit and elegance of MOORE:

Yet, to these MELODIES, from chasten'd art, SELINA'S magic harp! shall praise redoundHaste, strike the chords! and to the feeling heart The light of taste convey, and soul of sound!

REPLY TO A POEM OF LORD VAUX.

"I LOATH THAT I HAVE LOV'D," &c.

BY J. THELWALL, ESQ.

I

I.

Do not loath that I have lov'd,
Tho' years came stealing on;

Or that the sweetest joys I prov'd,
Ere time of joy was gone.

I do not loath that I have lov'd,
Or that my love was fair;
For love's return to me hath prov'd
The balm of every care.

Ill.

How can I loath the love I bore
To innocence and truth?
Or my own envious age, deplore
The blessings of my youth ?-

IV.

For let but virtue, hand in hand
With youthful passion go,-

The love that's knit with reason's band
Repentance ne'er shall know.

V.

Then, Stella! tho' the fires decay
That lit me to thy arms,
Nor distant far the envious day
Shall dim thy mellowing charms;

VI.

Tho' youthful joys return no more,
Rememberance shall remain,
And past delights recounted o'er,
Shall give delight again.

VII.

Let Memory, then, the record true
Of youthful passion bring,
And o'er the wintery hearth, renew
The blooming hours of spring.

ΤΟ

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHAULIEU.

TELL me not, with groundless fear,
That, bending to some other beauty,
I may forget you once were dear,
And vow to her tender duty.

my

No, loveliest! no! for though the youth,
Who sees thy charms, may break for ever
All former vows of plighted truth,

Faithless again shall he be never.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

BALLAD.

THE LOVER'S COMPLAINT. TO MISS H. B. 1778.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

O! WHAT shall my feelings declare?

O! how shall I number my woes?
Since I caught such a glance of the fair,
As has banish'd all hope of repose.
At beauty how oft have I gaz'd,
Of beauty, how oft have I sung:
For beauty was form'd to be prais'd,
And her smiles to unfetter the tongue!

Hither throng, all ye tender desires!
Ye Muses! ye Loves! hither throng;
HONORIA awakens my fires,

'Tis HONORIA Who merits the song.
But all my endeavours are vain;
"Twere madness her praises to scale;
A poet! and not breathe a strain-
A lover! and courage to fail!-

But what would avail all his art,

When the poet considers the theme? The lover with firmness might part, Whose happiness seems but a dream!

From a task, that would pose bigot-zeal,
'Tis sure no discredit to fly;

At her feet too, where monarchs might kneel,
Methinks, 'twere a pleasure to die!

"Tis late, that I came to the plain,
But late, I consulted my ease;
My youth was an era of pain,

And my quiet-the sport of the seas!
But still, on what shore I was thrown,
The rigors whate'er of the clime;
My liberty sweet, was my own,
And I dreaded, no victor, but time!

Alas! that a nymph of the grove,
More fatal than tempests should be;
Alas! that the arrows of Love,

Should only be poison'd for me!
Whene'er on my rivals I muse,

To what depths of despair am I hurl'dFor how but to doubt, can he choose, Whose rivals consist-of a world!

Then, since neither titles nor birth,
Nor talents, her hand can ensure;
Since kingdoms fall short of her worth,
For the purchase a CRŒESUS were poor!
Cease, cease, thy demerits to heed,

Essay her compassion to move;

Tho' a shepherd-thy truth may succeed,
For the price of HONORIA, is love!

2