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And frequent throws the wary lead,
To see what dangers may be hid;
And once in seven years I'm seen
At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen.
Though pleased to see the dolphins play,
I mind my compass and my way,
With store sufficient for relief,
And wisely still prepared to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the soul,
I make, (may Heaven propitious send
Such wind and weather to the end)
Neither becalm'd, nor overblown,
Life's voyage to the world unknown.



OF Leinster, famed for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face;

Till luckless love, and pining care,
Impair'd her rosy hue,

Her coral lips, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware.

Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring ;
And at her window shrieking thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound:
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round:

"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
"Which says I must not stay:
I see a hand you cannot see,
"Which beckons me away.

"By a false heart, and broken vows, "In early youth I die:

Am I to blame, because his bride "Is thrice as rich as I?

"Ah! Colin, give her not thy vows; "Vows due to me alone;

"Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, "Nor think him all thy own.

"To-morrow in the church to wed,

"Impatient both prepare ;

"But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there.

Then bear my corse; ye comrades, bear, "The bridegroom blithe to meet; "He in his wedding trim so gay, "I in my winding sheet."

She spoke, she died-her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding trim so gay,
She in her winding sheet.

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (a bride no more)
The varying crimson fled,

When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains!

Oft on their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the sacred green.

But swain fors worn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.



THY forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the monarch's and the Muses' seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades. GRANVILLE commands ;-your aid, O Muses bring!— What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing!

of Eden, vanish'd now so long,
Live in description, and look green in song:
These, were my breast inspired with equal flame,
Like them in beauty, should be like in fame.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water seem to strive again;
Not, chaos-like, together crush'd and bruised,
But, as the world, harmoniously confused:
Where order in variety we see,

And where, though all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a checker'd scene display,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress:
There, interspersed in lawns and opening glades,
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades:
Here, in full light, the russet plains extend:
There, wrapp'd in clouds, the bluish hills ascend.
Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes,
And 'midst the desert fruitful fields arise,
That, crown'd with tufted trees and fringing corn,
Like verdant isles, the sable waste adorn.

Let India boast her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber or the balmy tree,
While by our oaks the precious loads are borne,
And realms commanded which those trees adorn,
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight,
Though gods assembled grace his towering height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their blessings, all those gods appear.
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd;
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamell'd ground;
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand,
And, nodding, tempt the joyful reaper's hand;
Rich Industry sits smiling on the plains,
And Peace and Plenty tell, a Stuart reigns.

Not thus the land appear'd in ages past,
A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste;
savage beasts and savage
laws a prey,
And kings more furious and severe than they;
Who claim'd the skies, dispeopled air and floods,
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods:
Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves
(For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves.)
What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd,
And ev❜n the elements a tyrant sway'd?

In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain,
Soft showers distill'd, and suns grew warm in vain ;
The swain with tears his frustrate labor yields,
And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields.
What wonder, then, a beast or subject slain
Were equal crimes in a despotic reign ?
Both, doom'd alike, for sportive tyrants bled;
But, while the subject starved, the beast was fed.


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