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"Is there no road but by those gibbets ?"
"No road," the woman replied.

"But tho' with the wind each murderer fwings
"They both of them are harmless things,
"And fo are the ravens befide."

"What are these ravens there?-thofe creatures
"That are fo black and blue !
"But are they ravens? I enquire,
"For I have heard by winter's fire,
"That phantoms the dead purfue."

The woman replied, "They are night-ravens
"That pick the dead-men's eyes;
"And they cry qua, with their hollow jaw;
"Methinks I one this moment faw!

"To the banquet at hand he flies.

"Now fare thee well!" The traveller, filent,
Whilft terror confumed his foul,
Went mufing on. The night was ftill,
And every star had drunk his fill,

At the brim of oblivion's bowl.

And now he near to the gibbets approach'd!
The black men waved in the air;
He rais'd his head, and caft a glance,

Yet heeded them not, tho' they feemed to dance,
For he determin'd not to fear.

Wherefore, he cried, fhould men incline
To fear where no danger is found!

He scarce had faid, when, in the dark night,
Befide him appear'd a spirit in white ?

He trembled, and could not look round.

He gallop'd away! the spirit purfued!
And the murderers' irons they fcreak!
The gibbets are paft, and now faft and more faft,
The horseman and spirit outstrip the loud blast,
Tho' neither have courage to speak.

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Now both on the verge of the common arrive,
Were a gate the free paffage denied ;

The horfeman his arm outstretch'd to expand
The gate to admit him, when, cold o'er his hand,
The mouth of the spirit did glide.

He started and swift through the still-darker lane -
Gallop'd faft from the being he fear'd;
But yet, as the fhadow the fubftance pursues,
The fpirit, behind, by a fide-glance he views,
And more luminous now it appear'd!

The tumpike he reach'd; "Oh tell me," he cried,
"I can neither look round or go on;

"What spirit is this which has follow'd me here
"From the common? good mafter, I dreadfully fear,
"Speak! speak! or my fenfe will be gone!"

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"Ah, Jenny," he cried, "thou crafty old jade!
"Is it thee? I'll beat thy bones bare.

"Good gentleman, fear not, no spirit is nigh,
"Which has follow'd you here from the common
hard-by,

"'Tis only old Gaffer's grey mare!"

CITELTO.

The Tempeft is a beautiful little piece, not wholly unlike Beattie's Hermit in point of fentiment:

THE TEMPEST.

"The tempeft has darken'd the face of the skies, The winds whistle wildly across the wafte plain, The fiends of the whirlwind terrific arise,

And mingle the clouds with the white-foaming main. All dark is the night and all gloomy the shore, Save when the red lightnings the ether divide, Then follows the thunder with loud founding roar, And echoes in concert the billowy tide.

But tho' now all is murky and shaded with gloom,

Hope the foother foft whifpers the tempefts fhall cease;

Then nature again in her beauty fhall bloom,

And enamoured embrace the fair fweet-fmiling peace.

For

For the bright-blufhing morning all rofy with light
Shall convey on her wings the Creator of day,
He fhall drive all the tempefts and terrors of night,
And nature enlivened again fhall be gay.

Then the warblers of fpring fhall attune the foft lay,
And again the bright flowret fhall bluth in the dale;
On the breaft of the ocean the zephyr fhall play,

And the fun-beam fhall fleep on the hill and the dale. If the tempefts of nature so foon fink to reft, If her once faded beauties fo foon glow again, Shall man be for ever by tempefts oppress'd,

By the tempests of paffion, of forrow, and pain? Ah no! for his paffions and forrow shall cease

When the troublesome fever of life shall be o'er; In the night of the grave he fhall number in peace, And paffion and forrow fhall vex him no more. And fhall not this night and its long dismal gloom, Like the night of the tempeft again pass away; Yes! the duft of the earth in bright beauty fhall bloom, And rife to the morning of heavenly day!

D. 1796. The Old Man's Comforts are prettily imagined and affectingly told.

THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE

GAINED THEM.

"You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
The few locks that are left you are grey;

You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,
Now tell me the reafon I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abused not my health and my vigour at first.
That I never might need them at last.

Your are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And pleasures with youth pafs away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reafon, I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth could not laft;
I thought on the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And life must be hastening away;

You are cheerful, and love to converfe upon death!
Now tell me the reafon I pray?

I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied,
Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!
And He hath not forgotten my age."

S.

Many other pleafing pieces might have been selected, but fufficient has been extracted to convince the judgment, and taste of the editor, and to fhew the reader that the perufal of the whole collection will administer to his inftruction and entertainment. The fecond volume, we understand, is in the press.

Poems and Plays by Mrs. Weft, Author of a Tale of the Times, a Goffip's Story, &c. 2 vols. Longman and Rees.

THIS ingenious lady has afforded us entertainment

and inftruction in the perufal of her volumes; though we do not affign her the firft rank among the female writers of the day. There is, however, much to commend; and our readers will, upon the whole, be pleafed with her effufions.

The comedy is entitled How will it End? nor can we perceive why it fhould have been rejected. The fame may be remarked of the Tragedy-Adela; but the authorefs now appeals to an impartial public. Her Elegies and Sonnets contain many juft thoughts, well expreffed. We, are, however, moft gratified with the

Ode

Ode on Poetry, in four parts-Claffics, Uncultivated, Sacred, and British. Under each of which heads a number of pleafing articles are detailed and illustrated. The British department clofes with these two animated ftanzas. The Genius of Poetry thus exclaims:

"Go tell my ardent youths who pant
To emulate their father's fame;
Who, fcorning faction's trait'rous rant,
Still kindle at BRITTANIA's name.
Say, though in lonely dells unfought,
Save by pure taste and sober thought,
The exil'd mufes rove forlorn ;
Yet tell them virtue's holy deed,
Shall claim its high heroic meed,

The applauding song shall burft, and charm an age

unborn.

For thee, though hope with meteor ray,

No longer gilds thy airy dreams,

Beware, nor prostitute the lay,

The gift of heav'n to hell-born themes.
O rather let oblivion's fhade,

The poet and the verse pervade,

Unnotic'd like your linnet's strain ;

While confcious duty deigns to throw,

O'er thy lone cot a funny glow,

And tells thy tranquil heart-thou doft not live in
vain.

ΤΟ

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