SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED BY A FEMALE LUNATIC TO A LADY.
Lady, thou weepest for the Maniac's woe, And thou art fair, and thou, like me, art young; Oh! may thy bosom never, never know The pangs with which my wretched heart is wrung. I had a mother once--a brother too-- (Beneath yon yew my father rests his head:) I had a lover once, and kind and true, But mother, brother, lover, all are fled! Yet, whence the tear which dims thy lovely eye? Oh! gentle lady--not for me thus weep, The green sod soon upon my breast will lie, And soft and sound will be my peaceful sleep. Go thou, and pluck the roses while they bloom-- My hopes lie buried in the silent tomb.
[1] This Quatorzain had its rise from an elegant Sonnet, "occasioned by seeing a young female Lunatic," written by Mrs. Lofft, and published in the Monthly Mirror.
Supposed to be written by the unhappy Poet Dermody in Storm, while on board a Ship in his Majesty's service.
Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds Successive fly, and the loud piping wind Rocks the poor sea-boy on the dripping shrouds, While the pale pilot, o'er the helm reclined, Lists to the changeful storm: and as he plies His wakeful task, he oft bethinks him, sad, Of wife, and little home, and chubby lad, And the half strangled tear bedews his eyes; I, on the deck, musing on themes forlorn, View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep, Nought dreading in the green sea's caves to sleep, For not for me shall wife or children mourn, And the wild winds will ring my funeral knell, Sweetly as solemn peal of pious passing-bell.
God help thee, Traveller, on thy journey far; The wind is bitter keen,--the snow o'erlays The hidden pits, and dangerous hollow ways, And darkness will involve thee. No kind star To-night will guide thee, Traveller,--and the war Of winds and elements on thy head will break, And in thy agonizing ear the shriek Of spirits howling on their stormy car Will often ring appalling--I portend A dismal night--and on my wakeful bed Thoughts, Traveller, of thee will fill my head, And him who rides where winds and waves contend, And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide His lonely bark through the tempestuous tide.
This Sonnet was addressed to the Author of this volume, and was occasioned by several little Quatorzains, misnomered Sonnets, which he published in the Monthly Mirror. He begs leave to return his thanks to the much respected writer, for the permission so politely granted to insert it here, and for the good opinion he has been pleased to express of his productions.