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HORRID DREAMS. WHAT DREAMS PORTEND. Not all a monarch's luxury the woes Can counterpoise of that most wretched man, Whose nights are shaken with the frantic fits Of wild Orestes ; whose delirious brain, Stung by the Furies, works with poisoned thought : While pale and monstrous painting shocks the soul; And mangled consciousness bemoans itself Forever torn, and chaos floating round. What dreams presage, what dangers these or those Portend to sanity, though prudent seers Revealed of old, and men of deathless fame, We would not to the superstitious mind Suggest new throbs, new vanities of fear. 'Tis ours to teach you from a peaceful night To banish omens and all restless woes.

In study some protract the silent hours,
Which others consecrate to mirth and wine,
And sleep till noon, and hardly live till night :
But surely this redeems not from the shades
One hour of life. Nor does it naught avail
What season you to drowsy Morpheus give
Of the ever-varying circle of the day ;
Or whether, through the tedious winter gloom,
You tempt the midnight or the morning damps.


The body, fresh and vigorous from repose,
Defies the early fogs : but, by the toils
Of wakeful day exhausted and unstrung,
Weakly resists the night's unwholesome breath.
The grand discharge, the effusion of the skin,
Slowly impaired, the languid maladies
Creep on, and through the sickening functions steal.
So when the chilling east invades the Spring,
The delicate Narcissus pines away
In hectic languor : and a slow disease
Taints all the family of flowers, condemned
To cruel heavens. But why, already prone
To fade, should beauty cherish its own bane?
O shame! O pity! nipped with pale quadrille,
And midnight cares, the bloom of Albion dies !

By toil subdued, the warrior and the hind Sleep fast and deep : their active functions soon With generous streams the subtle tubes supply ; And soon the tonic, irritable nerves Feel the fresh impulse, and awake the soul. The sons of indolence with long repose Grow torpid : and, with slowest Lethe drunk, Feebly and lingeringly return to life, Blunt every sense, and powerless every limb. Ye prone to sleep (whom sleeping most annoys), On the hard mattress or elastic couch Extend your limbs, and wean yourselves from sloth; Nor grudge the lean projector, of dry brain And springy nerves, the blandishments of down ;

Nor envy, while the buried bacchanal
Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams.

He, without riot, in the balmy feast
Of life, the wants of nature has supplied,
Who rises cool, serene, and full of soul.
But pliant nature more or less demands,
As custom forms her ; and all sudden change
She hates of habit, even from bad to good.
If faults in life, or new emergencies,
From habits urge you by long time confirmed,
Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage ;
Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves,
Slow as the stealing progress of the year.

Observe the circling year. How unperceived Her seasons change ! Behold! by slow degrees, Stern Winter tamed into a ruder Spring ; The ripened Spring a milder Summer glows; Departing Summer sheds Pomona's store ; And aged Autumn brews the winter storm. Slow as they come, these changes come not void Of mortal shocks : the cold and torrid reigns, The two great periods of the important year, Are in their first approaches seldom safe : Funereal Autumn all the sickly dread, And the black Fates deform the lovely Spring.

He well-advised, who taught our wiser sires Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, Ere the first frost has touched the tender blade ; And late resign them, though the wanton Spring Should deck her charms with all her sister's rays. For while the effluence of the skin maintains Its native measure, the pleuritic Spring Glides harmless by ; and Autumn, sick to death With sallow quartans, no contagion breathes.

IF DISEASE THREATENS, CoxstLT YOUR PHYSICIAX. I in prophetic numbers could unfold The omens of the year : what seasons teem With what diseases ; what the humid South Prepares, and what the demon of the East : But you perhaps refuse the tedious song. Besides, whatever plagues in heat, or cold, Or drought, or moisture, dwell, they hurt not you, Skilled to correct the vices of the sky, And taught already how to each extreme To bend your life. But should the public bane Infect you ; or some trespass of your own, Or flaw of nature, hint mortality : Soon as a not unpleasing horror glides Along the spine, through all your torpid limbs ; When first the head throbs, or the stomach feels A sickly load, a weary pain the loins ; Be Celsus called ; the Fates come rushing on ; The rapid Fates admit of no delay. While wilful you, and fatally secure, Expect to-morrow's more auspicious sun, The growing pest, whose infancy was weak And easy vanquished, with triumphant sway O’erpowers your life. For want of timely care, Millions have died of medicable wounds.



APPARENT TRIFLES MAY EXPOSE LIFE.-EPIDEMICS. Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign. Ah! in what perils is vain life engaged !

Here lay their hopes (though little hope remained) What slight neglects, what trivial faults, destroy With full effusion of perpetual sweats The hardiest frame ! of indolence, of toil,

To drive the venom out. And here the Fates We die ; of want, of superfluity :

Were kind, that long they lingered not in pain. The all-surrounding heaven, the vital air,

For, who survived the sun's diurnal race,
Is big with death. And though the putrid South Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeemed :
Be shut; though no convulsive agony

Some the sixth hour oppressed, and some the third.
Shake, from the deep foundations of the world, Of many thousands, few untainted 'scaped ;
The imprisoned plagues ; a secret venom oft Of those infected, fewer 'scaped alive :
Corrupts the air, the water, and the land.

Of those who lived, some felt a second blow; What livid deaths has sad Byzantium seen!

And whom the second spared, a third destroyed. How oft has Cairo, with a mother's woe,

Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to shun Wept o'er her slaughtered sons and lonely streets ! The fierce contagion. O'er the mournful land Even Albion, girt with less alignant skies,

The infected city poured her hurrying swarı Albion the poison of the gods has drank,

Roused by the flames that fired her seats around, And felt the sting of monsters all her own.

The infected country rushed into the town.
Some sad at home, and in the desert some,

Abjured the fatal commerce of mankind :
Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent

In vain : where'er they fled, the Fates pursued. Their ancient rage, at Bosworth’s purple field ; Others, with hopes more specious, crossed the main, While, for which tyrant England should receive, To seek protection in far-distant skies ; Her legions in incestuous murders mixed,

But none they found. It seemed the general air, And daily horrors ; till the Fates were drunk

From pole to pole, from Atlas to the East, With kindred blood by kindred hands profused ;

Was then at enmity with English blood. Another plague, of more gigantic arm,

For, but the race of England, all were safe Arose ; a monster never known before

In foreign climes ; nor did this fury taste Reared from Cocytus its portentous head.

The foreign blood which England then contained. This rapid fury not like other pests

Where should they fly? The circumambient heaven Pursued a gradual course, but in a day

Involved them still ; and every breeze was bane. Rushed as a storm o'er half the astonished isle, Where find relief? The salutary art And strewed with sudden carcasses the land.

Was mute ; and, startled at the new disease, First through the shoulders, or whatever part In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave. (prayers; Was seized the first, a fervid vapor sprung.

To Heaven with suppliant rites they sent their With rash combustion thence the quivering spark Heaven heard them not. Of every hope deprived ; Shot to the heart, and kindled all within ;

Fatigued with vain recourses ; and subdued And soon the surface caught the spreading fires.

With woes resistless and enfeebling fear ; Through all the yielding pores, the melted blood

Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blow. Gushed out in smoky sweats ; but naught assuaged Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard, The torrid heat within, nor aught relieved

Nor aught was seen but ghastly views of death. The stomach's anguish. With incessant toil, Infectious horror ran from face to face, Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain,

And pale despair. 'Twas all the business then They tossed from side to side. In vain the stream

To tend the sick, and in their turns to die. Ran full and clear ; they burnt and thirsted still. In heaps they fell : and oft one bed, they say, The restless arteries with rapid blood

The sickening, dying, and the dead contained. Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly The breath was fetched, and with huge laborings Ye guardian gods, on whom the fates depend At last a heavy pain oppressed the head, [heaved. Of tottering Albion ! ye eternal fires (powers A wild delirium came ; their weeping friends That lead through heaven the wandering year! ye Were strangers now, and this no home of theirs. That o'er the encircling elements preside! Harassed with toil on toil, the sinking powers May nothing worse than what this age has seen Lay prostrate and o'erthrown ; a ponderous sleep Arrive! Enough abroad, enough at home, Wrapt all the senses up : they slept and died. Has Albion bled. Here a distempered heaven In some a gentle horror crept at first

Has thinned her cities ; from those lofty cliffs O'er all the limbs; the sluices of the skin

That awe proud Gaul, to Thule's wintry reign ; Withheld their moisture, till, by art provoked, While in the west, beyond the Atlantic foam, The sweats o'erflowed ; but in a clammy tide : Her bravest sons, keen for the fight, have died Now free and copious, now restrained and slow; The death of cowards and of common men : Of tinctures various, as the temperature

Sunk void of wounds, and fallen without renown. Had mixed the blood ; and rank with fetid steams : But from these views the weeping Muses turn, As if the pent-up humors by delay

And other themes invite my wandering song.



Rural Odes for October.


And what a change hath passed upon the face

of Nature, where thy waving forests spread, With what a glory comes and goes the year !

Then robed in deepest green ! All through the night The buds of Spring – those beautiful harbingers

The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art, Of sunny skies and cloudless times — enjoy

And in the day the golden sun hath wrought Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out;

True wonders ; and the wings of morn and even And when the sily habit of the clouds

Have touched with magic broath the changing leaves. Comes down upon the Autumn sun, and with

And now, as wanders the dilating eye A sober gladness the old year takes up

Athwart the varied landscape circling far, His bright inheritance of golden fruits,

What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

Of colors, bursts upon the ravished sight! There is a beautiful spirit breathing now

Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest, Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,

A golden glory ; yonder, where the oak And from a beaker full of richest dyes

Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash Pouring new glory on the Autumn woods,

Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. The dog-wood spreads beneath a rolling field Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,

Of deepest crimson ; and afar, where looms
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales

The gnarléd gum, a cloud of bloodiest red !
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,

And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, -

ERE, in the northern gale,
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down

The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
By the way side a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves ; the purple finch,

The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,

Have put their glory on.
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, –
A winter bird, — comes with its plaintive whistle,

The mountains that infold,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud

In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings; Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, And merrily with oft-repeated stroke

That guard the enchanted ground. Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

I roam the woods that crown

The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, O what a glory doth this world put on

Where the gay company of trees look down For him that with a fervent heart


forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks

On the green fields below. On duties well performed, and days well spent !

My steps are not alone For him the wind, ay, the yellow leaves,

In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death

Along the winding way. Has lifted up for all, that he shall go

And far in heaven, the while,
To his long resting-place without a tear.

The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,-
The sweetest of the


Where now the solemn shade, The Autumn time is with us! Its approach

Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; Was heralded, not many days ago,

So grateful, when the noon of Summer made By bazy skies that veiled the brazen sun,

The valleys sick with heat ? And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn,

Let in through all the trees And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; By purling clusters of the juicy grape,

Their sunny-colored foliage in the breeze Swinging upon the vine. And now, 't is here !

Twinkles, like beams of light.

The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen,

And glimmerings of the sun.

But, 'neath yon crimson tree,
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,

Her blush of maiden shame.

0, Autumn ! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad ; Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,

And leave thee wild and sad !

Ah, 't were a lot too blest Forever in thy colored shades to stray ; Amidst the kisses of the soft south-west

To rove and dream for aye ;

And leave the vain, low strife That makes men mad—the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life,

And waste its little hour.


O'er joys that ne'er will bloom again

Mourns on the far bill-side.

And yet my pensive eye
Rests on the faint blue mountain long,
And for the fairy-land of song,

That lies beyond, I sigh.

The moon unveils her brow;
In the mid sky her urn glows bright,
And in her pale and mellow light

The valley sleeps below.

I stand deep musing here, Beneath the dark and motionless beech, Whilst wandering winds of nightfall reach

My melancholy ear

The air breathes chill and free ; A spirit, in soft music, calls From Autumn's gray and moss-grown halls,

And round her withered tree.

The hoar and mantled oak, With moss and twisted ivy brown, Bends in its lifeless beauty down,

Where weeds the fountain choke.

Leaves, that the night-wind bears
To earth's cold bosom with a sigh,
Are types of our mortality,

And of our fading years.

The tree that shades the plain, Wasting and hoar as time decays, Spring shall renew with cheerful days,

But not my joys again.


ROUND Autumn's mouldering urn,
Loud mourns the chill and cheerless gale,
When nightfall shades the quiet vale,

And stars in beauty burn.

'T is the year's eventide. The wind — like one that sighs in pain


Somerville's "Cbase."



The subject proposed. The origin of hunting. The rude and

unpolished manners of the first hunters. Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice. The grant made by God to man of the beasts, Gen. 9: 3. The regular manner of hunting first brought into Britain by the Normans. The best horses and best hounds bred here. The advantage of this exercise to the British, as islanders. Address to gentlemen of estates. Situation of the kennel and its several courts. The diversion and employment of hounds in the kennel. The different sorts of hounds for each different chase. Description of a perfect hound. Of sizing and sorting of hounds; the middle-sized hounds recommended. of the large, deep-mouthed, for hunting the stag and otter. Of the lime-hound ; their use on the borders of England and Scotland. A physical account of scents. Of good and bad scenting days. A short admonition to my brethren of the couples.


Or chance or industry in after times
Some few improvements made, but short as yet
Of due perfection. In this isle remote
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn :
To arms devote, in the politer arts
Nor skilled, nor studious; till from Neustria's coasts
Victorious William to more decent rules
Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak
The proper dialect, with horn and voice
To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry
His listening poers approve with joint acclaim.
From him successive huntsmen learned to join
In bloody social leagues the multitude
Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes

: To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline, the pack.



The chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed,
And no less various use.

Hail, happy Britain : highly-favored isle,
When Nimrod bold,

And Heaven's peculiar care ! to thee 't is given That mighty hunter ! first made war on beasts, To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those And stained the woodland green with purple dye,

Begot by winds, or the celestial breed New and unpolished was the huntsman's art; That bore the great Pelides through the press No stated rule, his wanton will his guide,

Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks, With clubs and stones, rude implements of war ! Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins, He armed his savage bands, a multitude

Cheerful, his course, and, ere his beams decline, Untrained : of twining osiers formed, they pitch Has measured half thy surface unfatigued. Their artless toils, then range the desert hills

In thee alone, fair land of Liberty ! And scour the plains below : the trembling herd

Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout,

As yet unrivalled, while in other climes Unheard before ; surprised, alas ! to find [lord, Their virtue fails, a weak, degenerate race. Man now their foe, whom erst they deemed their

In vain malignant steams and winter fogs But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet

Load the dull air and hover round our coast; Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain The huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold, Wide wasting, and grim slaughter, red with blood :

Defies the noxious vapor, and confides Crged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill; In this delightful exercise to raise Their rage licentious knows no bound ; at last, His drooping head, and cheer his heart with joy. Encumbered with their spoils, joyful they bear Upon their shoulders broad the bleeding prey.

THE VETERAN HUNTER TO WEALTHY LANDHOLDERS. Part on their altar smokes, a sacrifice

Ye vig'rous youths ! by smiling fortune blest To that all-gracious Power whose bounteous hand With large demesnes, hereditary wealth Supports this wide creation ; what remains, Heaped copious by your wise forefathers' care, On living coals they broil, inelegant

Hear and attend ! while I the means reveal Of taste, nor skilled as yet in nicer arts

To enjoy these pleasures, for the weak too strong, Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,

Too costly for the poor : to rein the steed And strong necessity, thus first began

Swift stretching o'er the plain, to cheer the pack The chase of beasts ; though bloody was the deed, Opening in concert of harmonious joy, Yet without guilt ; for the green herb alone But breathing death. What though the gripe severe Unequal to sustain man's laboring race,

Of brazen-fisted time, and slow disease Now every moving thing that lived' on earth Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung, Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven Amict my shattered frame,-undaunted still To give us in proportion to our wants.

Fixed as a mountain-ash that braves the bolts

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