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And Gawaine's unpolluted sword,

That wept to shed a woman's blood,

Now aids its master's kindling mood, And thirsts to quell that form abhorr’d.

Fierce was the combat, and at length

Each panting own’d their failing strength, Though parrying still each adverse blow :

But Gawaine summon’d all his might,

Resolv'd at once to end the fight,
He struck - but blood refus'd to flow,
Though wounded sunk the elfin knight.

He sunk, but soon a nimble Deer,

Rose where the warrior seem'd to die, And launching forth in full career,

Oft tost his crested head on high. One instant fixed in new surprize,

Soon Gawaine's hand the leash unbound,

Forth springs his keen, his matchless hound, And on the fainting stag he flies

Again his prey has vanish'd there,

An Eagle wing’d the middle air, And soar'd so boldly and so high,

It seem'd he flew to meet the sun,

Whose ruddy beams e’en now begun To purple o'er the dark blue sky,

And clouds that veiled the mountains dun.

7. But Gawaine's falcon swifter flies,

Nor fears to grapple with his king, In vain with anger-beaming eyes,

And mighty beak, and flapping wing, And dreadful cries he threats his foe.

His wing th' intrepid falcon tore,

He falls, the king of air no more.
Yet scarcely touch'd the ground below,

Ere all his spreading plumes were gone :

Forth flew a little Wren alone, Scarce seen amid the brightening sky;

But on a fir-tree's pointed height

She perches, half conceal'd from sight, And human voice and words surprize

From that small frame the listening knight.


* Desist! yon rising orb of gold
At once thy power and mine controllid.
For secret crimes in fairy-land
Condemn'd to roam this barren strand;
Alone, for many a weary year,
My joyless steps have linger'd here.
One only pleasure glads my mind, -
To work the woe of human kind,
And lead to death or endless slame
The race thro' which my sorrow came.
Thou! thou alone, hast foil'd my wiles,
Thou only scorn'd my fatal smiles,
Compell’d in borrow'd shapes to flee, -
My endless hatred waits on thee.

“ Lov’d by your sovereign, heap'd with wealth,
With fame and fortune, youth, and health,
While England's fairest maidens, all
Contend thy hand to lead the ball,
List thy soft converse, and decline
All coarser flattery than thine,
Unconquer'd still by mortal wight
In tourney or in fiercest fight,
Thine shall be still a joyless heart,
That shares no bliss thy words impart;
The smiles on that gay brow that glow,
Shall never gild the void below,
Till one of fairy race shall join
Her fate by marriage bonds with thine *
Then must my power, my curse expire,
For Fate controls my deathless ire.
“ For me,- I know


By thine accursed progeny.
This day that saw me vanquish'd lie,
Must every year

behold agen,
On these bleak shores, the fairy wren,
While hundreds scour each barren heath
To work one helpless creature's death. +
Woe to the fate-devoted bird,


that luckless morn is heard, • Alluding to the old fairy tale of Sir Gawaine's Marriage.

+ The chase of the wren is still pursued in the Isle of Man on the anniversari of the day when the fairy is supposed to have taken refuge in that form, and numi bers of unfortunate birds have fallen victims to the superstition,

- to die


And woe to me whene'er the dart,
Of skilful archer reach my heart.”

Thus spoke the Wren, and more she tried,
But in her throat the accents died,
Sunk in a low and plaintive cry,
A short but pleasing melody:
She left her perch, and soaring high,
Vanish'd amid the cloudless sky.
But her last accents left behind
A dreadful weight on Gawaine's mind;
That fatal day, without relief,
Gave him to glory, but to grief,
For, scatheless, (tho' he win the fight)
No man may cope with fairy might.


No. XIV.


Mr. Owen was a native of Shropshire. He was born in the year 1769, and was educated at the grammar-school of Ludlow, where he very early gave indications of that genius which in after-life raised him to eminence. He was frequently seen, out of school hours, sketching the beautiful scenery of that neighbourhood; and the first finished drawing he ever made was a view of Ludlow Castle, which we, believe, he presented to the dowager Lady Clive.

The late Mr. Payne Knight, whose mansion was in the vicinity, having noticed the dawning genius of young Owen, he was, by the advice and recommendation of that accomplished scholar, sent to town, about the year 1786, and placed under the tuition of Charles Catton, the Royal Academician. Here he had the good fortune to attract the attention of Sir Joshua Reynolds; and having some time after made an exquisite copy of Sir Joshua's picture of Mrs. Robinson (Perdita), he had the unspeakable advantage of the president's advice and instruction for the remainder of the life of that great master.

Strongly encouraged and aided by this circumstance, Mr. Owen applied himself with extraordinary assiduity to the study of his profession, in which he soon made considerable progress. In the year 1797 he exhibited at Somerset House a picture of the two Misses Leaf, by which he gained great credit, and in the latter part of the same year he married the elder of those ladies. The only issue of the marriage was one son, who was educated at Winchester and Oxford, and who is now in the church.

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Not long after his marriage, some embarrassments of a pecuniary nature (incurred from a train of unfortunate events, in the production of which Mr. Owen had no participation further than that of his having become responsible for a friend) pressed heavily upon him, and he was unexpectedly burdened with a considerable debt, which, however, he eventually paid off to the full amount. This circumstance must have necessarily rendered Mr. Owen’s up-hill path to fame and independence more steep and rugged; and yet, perhaps, it may be questioned whether, acting upon a powerful and honourable mind, such as his, it did not stimulate him to a still greater degree of industry and exertion.

In the year 1800, Mr. Owen settled with his family in Pimlico, but carried on his professional avocations at his rooms in Leicester-Square, in the house next to that in which Sir Joshua Reynolds formerly lived. At this period he made great advances in his art, and was in constant intercourse with many persons of the highest rank and consequence in the country. It would far exceed our limits to enumerate the portraits which were painted by this accomplished artist, or to attempt to comment on their varied excellence. One of the earliest was a powerful resemblance of Mr. Pitt, who took great notice of Mr. Owen, and invited him to Walmer Castle. This portrait made a great impression on the public, and a print from it was soon afterwards brought out. Mr. Owen's whole length portrait of the Lord Chancellor is also one of the most faithful and characteristic likenesses that the art of painting ever produced. The composition is exceedingly good, the colouring natural and harmonious, and the general effect admirable. His portrait of Lord Grenville, too, is marked with energy and truth, and the attitude of the figure is at once animated and easy. Nor can any one who was so fortunate as to see his portrait of the Duchess of Buccleugh, which was the principal ornament of the great room at Somerset House in the year in which it was exhibited, ever forget the placid dignity of the figure, and the exquisite tone that pervades the whole canvas. Many dignitaries of the

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