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Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The crackling faggot flies.
To soothe the stranger's woe,
And tears began to flow.
With answering care opprest: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
“ The sorrows of thy breast?
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or unregarded love?
Are trifling, and decay ; And those who prize the paltry things
More trifling still than they. “And what is friendship but a name?
A charm that lulls to sleep-
But leaves the wretch to weep.
The modern fair one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.
[hush, " For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows
And spurn the sex," he said ; But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.
Swift mantling to the view
As bright, as transient too.
Alternate spread alarms;
A maid in all her charms.
“My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he, And all his wealth was marked as mine:
He had but only me. "To win me from his tender arms
Unnumbered suitors came,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.
With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love. "In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he: Wisdom and worth were all he had
But these were all to me.
He carolled lays of love,
And music to the grove.
The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind. “The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his; but, woe is me!
Their constancy was mine. “For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain; “Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride, And sought a solitude forlorn
In secret, where he died. "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay; “And there, forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I." "Forbid it, heaven!" the Hermit cried,
And clasped her to his breast: The wondering fair one turned to chide'Twas Edwin's self that pressed !
“And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried, "Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside,
“But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray-. Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
It was not in the battle,
No tempest gave the shock,
She ran upon no rock. * The “Royal George," 108 guns, was lost off Spithead on the 29th of August, 1782. She was undergoing some repairs, and was careened over, when a sudden gust of wind overset her and she sank. A great number of persons were on board at the time from Portsmouth. Two or three hundred bodies floated on shore, and were buried in Kingston churchyard.
Sweet were his words when last we met;
My passion I as freely told him ; Clasped in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him.
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost
It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend And givea doleful groan through Yarrow. His mother from the window looked,
With all the longing of a mother; His little sister, weeping, walked
The greenwood path to meet her brother. They sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough: They only saw the clouds of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow. No longer from thy window look
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother; No longer walk, thou lovely maid,
Alas, thou hast no more a brother !
No longer seek him east or west,
No longer search the forest thorough; For, murdered in the night so dark,
He lies a lifeless corse in Yarrow !
The tears shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow; I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And there with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.
The tear did never leave her cheek,
No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream,
And with him now she sleeps in Yarrow.
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
To breathe a second Spring.
Full many a sprightly race
The paths of pleasure trace;
The captive linnet which enthral?
Or urge the flying ball?
Their murmuring labours ply, 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
And unknown regions dare descry:
And snatch a fearful joy.
Less pleasing when possessed ;
The sunshine of the breast. Their 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.
The little victims play;
Nor care beyond to-day:
And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 'To seize their prey, the murderous band,
Ah, tell them they are men ! 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-visaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
ODE ON A DISTANT VIEW OF
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
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
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers
among Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way:
Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain ! Where once my careless childhood strayed,
A stranger yet to pain! I feel the
gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow,
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' altered eye,
That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.
Scared at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless
Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again
believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed,
Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid,
With leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend; Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing
Lo! in the vale of years beneath,
A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
Those in the deeper vitals rage ;
And slow-consuming Age.
To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemned 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.
Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen); With' thund'ring voice and threat'ning
mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly
Thy milder influence impart,
To soften, not to wound my heart. The gen'rous spark extinct ive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour
The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and
1759–1796. THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.
When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, designed, To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
And bade thee form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore: What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves
returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear
through the vale ; The hawthorn-trees blow in the dews of the
morning, And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale;
He turned him right, and round about,
Upon the Irish shore;
With adieu for evermore, my dear!
The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
Never to meet again, my dear,
GO, PATTER to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see,
'Bout danger and fear and the like; A tight water-boat and good sea-room give
me, And 'tain't to a little I'll strike; Though the tempest top-gallant masts
smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse
everything tight, And under reefed foresail we'll scud: Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft
To be taken for trifles aback; For they say there's a Providence sits up
aloft, To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
When day is gane and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,
The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear,