Song.

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

Th' unsparing wound that lays thee low
Will bend thy Julia too:
Could she survive the fatal blow
Who only lives in you?

John Carr

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John Carr

Lines To Miss E. Atkinson, On Her Presenting The Author With An Irish Pebble.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Sonnet Upon A Swedish Cottage, Written On The Road, Within A Few Miles Of Stockholm.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Lines To A Promising Young Artist.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Epigram, On Winning A Young Lady's Money At Cards.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Lines To Julia.

Tho', Julia, we are doom'd to part,
Tho' unknown pangs invade this heart,
For thee the light of love shall burn,
To thee my soul in secret turn:
Upon this bosom, swell'd with care,
The thought of thee shall tremble there
'Till Time shall close these weeping eyes,
And close the soothing source of sighs.
So, in the silence of the night,
Shines on the wave the lunar light;
With its soft image, bright, imprest,
It heaves, and seems to know no rest:
Its agitation soon is o'er;
It sighs, and dies along the shore!

John Carr

Song.

Nature's imperfect child, to whom
The world is wrapt in viewless gloom,
Can unresisted still impart
The fondest wishes of his heart.

And he, to whose impervious ear
The sweetest sounds no charms dispense,
Can bid his inmost soul appear
In clear, tho' silent, eloquence.

But we, my Julia, not so blest,
Are doom'd a diff'rent fate to prove, -
To feel each joy and hope supprest
That flow from pure, but hidden, love.

John Carr

A Song. The Lover The Lute Of His Deceased Mistress.

Alas! but like a summer's dream
All the delight I felt appears,
While mis'ry's weeping moments seem
A ling'ring age of tears.

Then breathe my sorrows, plaintive lute!
And pour thy soft consoling tone,
While I, a list'ning mourner mute,
Will call each tender grief my own.

John Carr

A Song.

When stormy show'rs from Heav'n descend,
And with their weight the lily bend,
The Sun will soon his aid bestow,
And drink the drops that laid it low.

Oh! thus, when sorrow wrings the heart,
A sigh may rise, a tear may start;
Pity shall soon the face impress
With all its looks of happiness.

John Carr

Song.

Wilt thou, because thy Florio loves,
Forsake the giddy glitt'ring throng,
With him to dwell in peaceful groves,
With him to hear the shepherd's song?

Can'st thou, without a sigh, resign
The homage by thy charms inspir'd?
To one, oh! say, can'st thou confine
What oft so many have admir'd?

Sweet maid! oh! bless'd shall be our love,
Till time shall bid it cease to flow;
With thee shall ev'ry moment prove
A little heaven form'd below!

John Carr

Lines To The Memory Of My Dear Brother, W.T.P. Carr, Esq.

- manibus date lilia plenis:
Purpureos spargam flores.

Aeneid, lib. vi.


Tho' no funereal grandeur swell my song,
Nor genius, eagle-plum'd, the strain prolong, -
Tho' Grief and Nature here alone combine
To weep, my William! o'er a fate like thine, -
Yet thy fond pray'r, still ling'ring on my ear,
Shall force its way thro' many a gushing tear:
The Muse, that saw thy op'ning beauties spread,
That lov'd thee living, shall lament thee dead!
Ye graceful Virtues! while the note I breathe,
Of sweetest flow'rs entwine a fun'ral wreath, -
Of virgin flow'rs, and place them round his tomb,
To bud, like him, and perish in their bloom!
Ah! when these eyes saw thee serenely wait
The last long separating stroke of Fate, -
When round thy bed a kin...

John Carr