Of grey renown, within those borders grew: The tufted Bafil, pun-provoking Thyme, Fresh Baum, and Mary-gold of cheerful hue; The lowly Gill that never dares to climb; And more I fain would fing, difdaining here to rhime. Yet Euphrafy may not be left unfung, That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume. XIII. And here trim Rofmarine, that whilom crown'd The daintieft garden of the proudest peer; Ere, driven from its envy'd fite, it found A facred fhelter for its branches here; Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring skirts appear. Oh waffel days; O cuftoms meet and well! Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere: Simplicity then fought this humble cell, Nor ever would She more with thane and lordling dwell. XIV. Here XIV. Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned fuch pfalms as Sternhold forth did mete, If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave; But in her garden found a summer seat : Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong intreat, All, for the Nonce, untuning every string, Up hung their useless lyres-small heart had they to fing. XV. For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore, And pafs'd much time in truly virtuous deed; And, in those Elfins ears, would oft deplore The times, when Truth by Popish rage did bleed; And tortious death was true Devotion's meed; And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That would on wooden image place her creed; And lawny faints in fmould'ring flames did burn: Ah! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days fhould e'er return. XVI. In elbow chair, like that of Scottish stem By the sharp tooth of cank'ring eld defac'd, The The matron fate; and fome with rank she grac❜d, (The fource of children's and of courtier's pride!) Redress'd affronts, for vile affronts there pafs'd; And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide. XVII. Right well she knew each temper to defcry; To thwart the proud, and the fubmifs to raise; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high, And some entice with pittance small of praise; And other fome with baleful sprig fhe 'frays; Ev'n abfent, fhe the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways; Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, "Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold. XVIII. Lo now with ftate fhe utters the command! Eftfoons the urchins to their tasks repair; Their books of ftature small they take in hand, Which with pellucid horn fecured are, To fave from finger wet the letters fair: The work fo gay, that on their backs is feen, St. George's high atchievements does declare; On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleafing fight, I ween! XIX. Ah XIX. Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam a As erft the bard by Mulla's filver stream, Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight, Sigh'd as he fung, and did in tears indite. For brandishing the rod, fhe doth begin To loose the brogues, the stripling's late delight! And down they drop; appears his dainty skin, Fair as the furry coat of whiteft Ermilin. XX. O ruthful scene! when from a nook obfcure, All playful as the fate, fhe grows demure; Nor longer can fhe now her fhrieks command a Spenfer. On On thee the calls, on thee her parent dear! (Ah! too remote to ward the shameful blow!) And foon a flood of tears begins to flow And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. XXII. But ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace? Or what device his loud laments explain? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? Or when from high fhe levels well her aim, [claim. And, thro' the thatch, his cries each falling stroke proXXIII. The other tribe, aghaft, with fore dismay, Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care: By turns, aftony'd, every twig furvey, And, from their fellow's hateful wounds, beware; Knowing, I wift, how each the fame may share; 'Till Fear has taught them a performance meet, And to the well-known cheft the dame repair; Whence oft with fugar'd cates fhe doth 'em greet, And ginger-bread y-rare; now, certes, doubly fweet! XXIV, See |