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The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade ; (The sainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, The bat, low-wheeling, skims the dusky Mas oft been conscious of those happy hours; ground,

But now the hill, the river crown'd,with pines, August and hoary, o'er the sloping dale,

And sainted well have lost their cheering The Gothic abbey rears its sculptur'd tow'rs; pow'ss; Dull thro' the roofs resounds the whistling gale, for thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh Dark solitule among the pillars low'ss.

where, Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves. Where hast thoufied, and left me here beluind?

And solemnu shade a chapel's sad remains. My tend'rest wish, my heart to thee was ove; Where yon scath'd poplar through the wine dows waves,

How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how voidy And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains. The trackless shores that never were repasad! There oft, at dawn, as ove forgot behind,

Dread separation ! on the depth untried, Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Hope faiters, and the soul recoils aghast! Some hoary shepherd, o'er his staf! reclin'd, Wide round the spacions lieavens I cast my eyes:

Pores on the graves, and sighs a broken pray'r. And shall these stars glow with imunortal fire! High o'er thepines, that with theirdark'ningshade

ha Still shine the lifeless glories of the skies? Surround yon craggy bank, the castle rears

| And could thy bright, thy living soul expire! Its crumbling turrets ; sull its tow'ry head For be the thought! The pleasures most sublime,

A warlike mien, a sullen granuleur wears. The glow of friendship, and the virtuous tror, So, 'midst the snow of age. á boastful air The tow'ring wish that scorns the bounds of

Still on the war-worn vet'ran's brow atiends; Still his big bones his declare, ,

| Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here. Tho'tremblingo'er the feeble crutch he bends. So plant the vine in Norway's wintry land, Wild round the rates the duskywall-for screen. The languid stranger feebly buds, and dies : Where oft the knights the beautcons dames

Yet there's a clime where Virtue shall expand have led;

I With godlike strength beneath her bacire Gone is the bow'r, the grot a ruin'd heap,

skies! Where bays and ivy o'er the frwnients spread. The lonely shepherd on the mountain's side 'Twas here our sires, exulting from the fight... With patience waits thie rosy-op'ning day; • Great in their bloodyarıns, march'd o'er the lea, "hemarper at mid

daarthat. The mariner at midnight's darksonie tide Eveing their rescued fields with proud delight! | With cheerful hope expects the morning tay: Now lost to them! and, ah : low chang'

dTus I, on life's storni-heaten ocean cossd, to me!

1 In mental vision view the happy shore, . This bauk, the river, and the fanning brecze. Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast, The dear idea of my Pollio bring;

Where fate and death divide ihe friends na So shone the moon thro'these sofi-nodding trees, more!

When here we wanderd in the eves of spring:loh that some kind, some pitting kindred shade When April's smiles the flow'ry lawn adorn, 1 Who now perhaps frequents, this solemn grove,

And modest cowslips deck the streamlet's side; Would tell the awful secrets of the dead, When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn And from iny eyes the mortal film remove! Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colorsy... :

ors Vaiv is the wish -- yet surely not in vain Syed :

Man's bosom glows with that celestial fire So fair a blossom gentde Pollio wore,

Which scorns earth's luxuries, which smiles a These were thcemblems of his healthful mind; pain, To him the letter'd page display'd its lore, And wings his spirit with sublime desire !

To him bright Fancy all her wealth resign'd ;. Him with her purest flames the Muse endow'd,

To fan this spark of heaven, this may divine, .

Sul. Ony soul! still be aby dear emplov a Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied:

thought allied :


Sull thus to wander thro' the shades be thire, The sacred sisters led where Virtue glow'd

1 And well thy breast with visionary joy! In all her charms; he saw, he felt, and died. O partner of my infant griefs and joys!

So to the dark-brow'd wood, or sacred mount Bigwith the scenes now past,inyhearto'erflows; I.

is: In antient days, the holy seers retird; Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rise,

And, led in vision, drank at Siloe's founı, And dwells luxurious on her meling woce.

While rising ecstasics their bosons ford. Oît with the rising sun, when life was new, Restor'd creation bright before them tose,

Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee; The burning deserts smil's as Eden's plains : Oft by the moon have brush'd the evening dew, One friendly shade the wolf and lambkin chose : When all was fearless innocence awd glee. The flow ry niountain suug, Messiah reigrasi


Tho' fair ter raptures my cold breast inspire, And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skics,

Yet let me oft frequent this soleuin scene; Wecps o'er her iender babes, and dies.
Oft to the abbey's shatter'd walls retire, (tween. Whilst the warm blood bedows my veins,

What time the moonshine dimly glems bc- and unimpair'd remembrance reigns ;
There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods, Resentinent of my country's fate

Andweeping yewso'ershade the letter'd stones, Within my filial breast shall beat ;
While midnight silence wraps these drear aborles, ind, spite of her insulting foe,
And souths ine wandering o'er my kindred y stinpathising verse shall flow :

" Vourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn,

“ Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!"
When froid the bursting graves the just shall
All Nature smiling; and, by angels borne, (rise,
Messiah's cross får blazing o'er the skies?

6 86. Ode to Mirin. SMOLLET. $ 85, The Tears of Scotland. SMOLLET. le

PARENT of joy! heart-casing Mirth! MOURX, hapless Caledonia, mourn

Whether of Venus or Aurora born, Thy banishid peace, thy laurels torn! "

Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth, Thy sons, for valor long renown'd,

Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn : Lie slaughter'd on their native ground:

Thy glitt'ring colors gay Thy hospitable ronfs no more

Arvund him, Mirth, display; Invite the stranger to the door;

And o'er his raptur'd sense In smoky ruins sunk they lic,

Diffuse thy living influence : The monunients of cruelty.

So shall each hill, in purer green array'd, The wretched owner sees, afir,

And flower-adorn'd in new-born beauty His all becoine the prey of war :


(the shade, Bethinks him of bis babe and wife;

The grove shall smooth the horrors of Then smites his breast, and curses life.

And streamsin murmurs shall forget to flow. Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks,

Shine, Goddess, shine with unremitted ray,[day. Where once they fed their wanton flocks : And gild (a second sun) with brighter beamn our Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain;

Labor with thee forgets his pain, Thy infants perish on the plain.

And aged Poverty can smile with thee; What boots it, then, in ev'ry clime,

If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time,

And weak th' upliited arın of tyranny. Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,

The morning opes on high Still shone with undiminish'd blaze?

His universal eye; Thy tow'ring spirit now is bruke,

And on the world doth pour Thy neck is bended to the yoke:

· His glories in a golden show's. What foreign asins could never quell,

Lo!Darknesstrembling'fore thehostileray, By civil rage and rancor fell.

Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn:

The brood obscene, that own her gloomy The rural pipe and merry lay, No more shall cheer the happy clay :


Troopin her rear, and Aly th’approach of morn. No social scenes of gay delighi Bazuile the dreary winter niglit:

Pale shiv'ring ghosts, that dread th' all-cheering light,

snight. No strains but those of sorrow flow, And nought be heard but sounds of woc;

Quick as the lightning's fash glide to sepulchral While the pale phantoins of the slain

But whence the gladd'ning beam Glide nighily o'er the silent plain.

That pours his purple streain Ob baneful cause, oh fatal morn,

O'er the long prospect wide?

'Tis mirth. I see her sit Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!

In majesty of light,
The sons against their fathers stood ;
The parent shed his children's blood.

With Laughter at her side.

Bright-eyed Fancy hovering near Yet when the rage of battle ccas'd,

Wide waves her glancing wing in air; The victor's soul was not appeas'd :

And young Wit flings his pointed dart, The naked and forlorn must seel

That guiltless strikes the willing heart. Devouring flames and murd'ring steel!

Fear not now Aliction's pow'r, The pious mother doom'd to death,

Fear not now wild Passion's rage; Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath;

Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour, The bleak wind whistles round her head,

Save the iardy hand of Age. Her helpless orphans cry for bread;

Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant Poet's pray'r: Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,

No cloud that rides the blast shall vex the She views the shades of night descend;

troubled air.

$ 87.

And neighe tobe amenged the poynctedd speeres, $ 87. Ode to Leven Water. Smoller.

Orr ynne blacke armoure staulke arounde On Leven's banks, while free to rove,

Embatteld Brystowe, once thie grounde, And tune the rural pipe to love,

And glowe ardurous on the Castle steeres ; I envied not the happiest swain

Or fierye round the mynsterr glare ; That ever trod th' Arcadian plain.

Let Brystowe stylle be made thje care; Pure stream! in whose transparent wave

Guardeyttsrommetveineuneandconsumiyugefyre; My youthful limbs I wout to lave;

Lyche Avones streme ensyrke ytte rounde, No torrents stain thy liinpid source,

Ne lette a flame enharme the grounde,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course, Tyllynne one flame all the whole worlde expyre.
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
Wi.h white, round, polishid pebbles spread ;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood, 1$ 89. Bristowe Tragedie; or, The Dethe of Syr
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood :

Charles Baudin.
The springing troui, in speckled pride;
The salmon, inonarch of the tide ;

CHATTERTON, under the name of Rowlty. The ruthless pike, intent on war;

|The feather'd songster chaunticleer The silver eel and nouiled par.

Had wounde hys bugle horne, Devolving from thiy parent lake.

And told the earlie villager A charming maze ihy waters make,

| The commynge of the morne ; By bow'rs.of birch, and groves of pine,

Kynge Edwarde saw the rudie streakes And hedges flower'd with eglantine.

Of lyght eclypse the greie; Sull on thy banks, so gaily green,

And herde the raren's crokynge throic
May num'rous herds and flocks be seen;

Proclayme the fated daie.
And lasses, chanting o'er the pail;
And shepherds, piping in the dale;

“ Thou’rt ryght, " quod hee, "for, by the Godde, And antient faith, that knows no guile;

“ That syttes enthron'd on hyglie, And industry, embrown'd with toil

" Charles Bawdin, and his fellowes twaine, And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepard,

" To-daie shall surelie die.' The blessings they enjoy to guard. .

|Then wythe a jugge of nappy ale :

His Knyghtes dydd onne hymn waite; 888. Songelo Ælla, Lorde of the Castelof Bry-1" Goc tell the traytour thatt to-daie

stowe ynne daies of yore. From CHATTERTON, “ Hee leaves thys mortall state." under the name of RowLEY.

Syr Canterlone thenne hendedd lowe. Oh thou, orr what reinaynes of thee,

Wythe hart brymm-fulle of woe; Ælla, the darlynge of futurity,

J Hee journey'd to the castle-gale ; Leit thys mie songe bolde as thic courage be, And to Syr Charles dydd goe, As everlastynge to posteritye.

But whenne hee came, his children twaine, Whanne Dacya's sonnes, whose hayres of bloude. And eke hys lovynge wyfe. redde hue

(ing due, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morn- for goode Syr Charleses lyfe. Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie,

O goode Syr Charles !" sayd Canterlone, Upponne the lethalę daje,

I “ Badde tydyngs I doe brynge." Spredde farre and wyde onne Watchets shore ; " Speke boldlič, manne," said brare Svr Charles, Than dyddst thou furiouse stande,

"Whatle says thje traylour kynge" And bie thie valyante hande · Beesprengedd all the niees wythe gore,

|" I greeve to telle i Before yonne sonne

| “Does fromme the welkịnne flye, Drawn bie thyne anlace felle,

“ Hee hath uponuje hys honnor sworne Downe to the depihe of helle

| “Thatt thou shalt surelie die." Thousands of Dacyanns went; Brystowannes, menne of iny:hte,

Wee all must die," quod brave Syr Charles; Ydar'd the bloudie fighte,

1 “Of thatte I'm not affearde : And actedd deeds full quent.

" What bootes to lyve a little space? Oh thou, whereer (thie bones att reste)

“ Thanke Jesu, I'm prepar'd. Thye Spryte to haunte delyghteth beste,

1“ Buite telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, Whetherr upponne' the bloude-cnibreweddl.

del “l'de swner die to-daie Or whare thou kennst from farre [plevne." Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are, The dysmall crye of warre,

“ Tho' I should lyve for aie." Or scest soinme mountayare made of corse of Thenne Canterlone hee dydde goe out, sleyne;

To telle the maior straite Orr seest the hatchedd stede,

|To gett all thynges ynne reddyness Ypraunceynze o'er the mede,

For goode Syr Charleses fate.


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