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Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd | Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care,or cross'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom❜d bill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:
The next with dirges duc, in sad array,

Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him
borne :
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."


The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted files.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ;
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch,

And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.



"TWAS on

WAS on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure flow'rs that blow j
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,

Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws!

Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and em'rald eyes,

She saw, and purr'd applause.
Still had she gaz'd; but 'inidst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyriau hue,
Thro' richest purple, to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.


Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,

A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to misery all he bad, a tear;

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd)
a friend.

Nor farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw :
A whisker first, and then a claw;
With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize:
What female heart can gold despise?

What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulph between :
(Malignant Fate sat by and smil'd);
The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,

She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat`ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, nor Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard:-
A fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriv'd,
And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes,
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glitters, gold.

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YE distant spires, ye antique tow'rs,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!

Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from you blow

A momentary bliss bestow ;

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among Ah, shew them where in ambush stand,
Wanders the boary Thames along
His silver-winding way!

To seize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arms, thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny succeed

To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to day:

Yet see, how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black misfortune's baleful train!


These shall the fury passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful anger, pallid fear,
And shame that skulks behind;

Or pining love shall waste their youth,
Or jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-visag'd comfortless despair,
And sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this shall tempt to rise;
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning infamy.

The stings of falsehood those shall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen remorse with blood defil'd,
And moody madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

Lo! in the vale of years, beneath,
A grisly troop are seen,

The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,

That ev'ry labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band,
That 'numbs the soul with icy hand :
And slow consuming age.

To each his suff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.

O 2


RUIN seize thee, ruthless king! 'Confusion on thy banners wait! 'Tho' faun'd by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state! Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor even thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 'From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!'

Snch were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
StoutGlo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance:
To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his
quivering lance.

On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Rob'd in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air); And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 'Hark, how each giant-oak and desert cave

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 'O'er thee, O king! their hundred arms they wave, 'Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; "Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,

To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's


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'On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale; "Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail : "The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. 'Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, 'Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries"No more I weep. They do not sleep. 'On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 'I see them sit: they linger yet, ** Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful barmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line,'

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"Fill high the sparkling bowl,

"The rich repast prepare,

"Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: "Close by the regal chair

"Fell thirst and famine scowl

"A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. "Heard ye the din of battle bray,

"Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, [way. "And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their "Ye tow'rs of Julius, London's lasting shame, "With many a foul and midnight murder fel, "Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, "And spare the meek usurper's holy head. "Above, below, the rose of snow, "Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread; "The bristled boar in infant gore "Willows beneath the thorny shade. "Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, [doom. "Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his

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"Edward, io! to sudden fate

"(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) "Half of thy heart we consecrate. "The web is wore. The work is done.") Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,

'Leave me unblest, unpit.ed, here to mourn : In you bright track that fires the western skies, They meit, they vanish from my eyes [height

'Bat oh! what solema scenes on Snowdon's Descending slow their glittring skirts unroll? "Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! 'Ye uuborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 'No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.[hail! All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue,

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'Bright rapture calls, and, soaring as she siugs,

Waves in the eye of Heaven ber manycolour'd wings.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch-
A broader, browner shade;
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade;

Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the muse shall sit and think
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet, hark, how thro' the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honey'd spring,

· The verse adoru again 'Fierce war, and faithful love, And truth severe, by fairy fiction dress'd. In buskin'd measures move

Pale grief, and pleasing Pain. With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast 'A voice, as of the cherub-choir, 'Gales from blooming Eden bear;

And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire.

'Foud impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, [day! Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of To morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray.

Enough for me with joy i see


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'The different doom our fates assign. 'Be thine despair, and sceptred care: To triumph, and to die, are mine.'

He spoke; and, headlong from the mountains height, [night. Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless

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AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,

Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. || He gives to range the dreary sky :
From Helicon's harmonious springs
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring
The laughing flow'rs that round them blow,
shafts of war.
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.

Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the


O sovereign of the willing soul,

Parent of sweet and solemu-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen cares

And frantic passions hear thy soft controul.
On Thracia's bills the Lord of war

Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye.


Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay,
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way:
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young desire, and purple light of

Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and penury, the racks of pain,
Disease, and sorrow's weeping train;
And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly muse?
Night and all her sickly dews,

In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains


The muse has broke the twilight gloom,
To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

She deigns to bear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers, wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep;
Isles, that crown th' Egean deep;
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In ling'ring lab'rinths creep,

Thee the voice, the dance obey,

Temper'd to thy warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rosy-crowned loves are seen
Ou Cytherea's day,

With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures:
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops thy meet;
To brisk notes in cadence beating,
Glance their many-twinkling feet.

How do your tuneful echoes languish!
Mute but to the voice of anguish!
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around ;
Ev'ry shade and hollow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains:
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r,
And coward vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach They sought, O Albion! next thy sea encircled



Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursues, and gen'rous shame,
Th'unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy

Far from the sun and summer gale,

In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd.
To him the mighty mother, did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.
This pencil take, (she said), whose colours
Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic


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