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The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something

more,

'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires, Beyond the short extent of human thought. But hold-I see her from the covert break; Sad on yon little eminence she sits; Intent she listens with one ear erect, Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take,

And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,

That still urge on, and still in volleys loud, Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress. As now in louder peals, the loaded winds Bring on the gath'ring storm, her fears prevail;

And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge,

Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide, And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast. Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try, And each clean courser's speed. We scour along,

In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed;
Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
We press, we gore; till once the summit
gained,

Painfully panting, there we breathe a while;
Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down
Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed
Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
Alternate they preside, and jostling push
To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved;
How, niggard of his strength, the wise old
hound

Hangs in the rear, till some important point
Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase

Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,

With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.

Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full

career.

Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance

graze,

Have haply soiled the turf. See that old hound,

How busily he works, but dares not trust
His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells
Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
See, how they toss, with animated rage
Recovering all they lost!-That eager haste
Some doubling wile foreshows.-Ah! yet once

more

They're checked-hold back with speed-on either hand

They flourish round-even yet persist-'Tis right,

Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend

Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase

Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced. From brake to brake she flies, and visits all Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,

With love and plenty blessed. See! there she goes,

She reels along, and by her gait betrays Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!

The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves

A languid scent. And now in open view
See, see, she flies; each eager hound exerts
His utmost speed, and stretches ev'ry nerve.
How quick she turns! their gaping jaws
eludes,

And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed
By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
She yields her breath, and there reluctan
dies.

So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrug
banks,

Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies,

Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain ;

For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks,
To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
William Somerville.-Born 1682, Died 1742.

807.-PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

O happy, if ye knew your happy state, Ye rangers of the fields! whom Nature boon Cheers with her smiles, and every element Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown From marble pedestals; nor Raphael's works, Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls? Yet these the meanest of us may behold; And at another's cost may feast at will Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more ?

But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with

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See, there he comes, the exalted idol comes! The circle's formed, and all his fawning slaves

Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth
The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns
With promises, that die as soon as born.
Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place.
Frown but the monarch; all his glories
fade;

He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone,

The pageant of a day; without one friend To soothe his tortured mind; all, all are fled.

For though they basked in his meridian ray, The insects vanish, as his beams decline.

Not such our friends; for here no dark design,

No wicked interest bribes the venal heart;
But inclination to our bosom leads,
And weds them there for life; our social cups
Smile, as we smile; open and unreserved.
We speak our inmost souls; good humour,
mirth,

Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free, Smoothe every brow, and glow on every cheek.

O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan

Beneath the galling load of power, or walk Upon the slippery pavements of the great, Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure? Ye guardian powers who make mankind your care,

Give me

to know wise Nature's hidden depths,

Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read

The expanded volume, and submiss adore
That great creative Will, who at a word
Spoke forth the wondrous scene.
soul

But if my

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Each towering hill, each humble vale below, Shall hear my cheering voice, my hounds shall wake

The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round. William Somerville.-Born 1682, Died 1742.

808.-A FAIRY TALE.

In Britain's isle and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies danced the maze,
Lived Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Though badly shaped he'd been.

His mountain back mote well be said,
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above:
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dared to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Could ladies look within:
But one sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.
Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion paced along
All in the moony light;

'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost That reach'd the neighbour-town; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown.

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Now whilst he gazed, a gallant drest In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awful accent cried : "What mortal of a wretched mind, Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, Has here presumed to hide ?"

At this the swain, whose venturous soul No fears of magic art control,

Advanced in open sight: "Nor have I cause of dreed," he said, "Who view, by no presumption led, Your revels of the night.

'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,
Which made my steps unweeting rove
Amid the nightly dew."
""Tis well," the gallant cries again,
"We fairies never injure men
Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy love-dejected heart,
Be mine the task, or ere we part,

To make thee grief resign;
Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;
Whilst I with Mab, my partner daunce,

Be little Mable thine."

He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light music floats in wanton air;

The monarch leads the queen:
The rest their fairy partners found:
And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the Green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And siker such a feast was made,
As heart and lip desire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,
And with a wish retire.

But now, to please the fairy king,
Full every deal they laugh and sing,
And antic feats devise;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape
In Edwin's wondering eyes.

Till one at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids by night,
Has bent him up aloof:
And full against the beam he flung,
Where by the back the youth he hung
To spraul unneath the roof.

From thence, "Reverse my charm," he cries, "And let it fairly now suffice

The gambol has been shown."
But Oberon answers with a smile:
"Content thee, Edwin, for a while,
The vantage is thine own."

Here ended all the phantom-play;
They smelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;

The whirling wind that bore the crowd
Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud,
To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers dye;

Poor Edwin falls to floor;

Forlorn his state, and dark the place, Was never wight in such a case

Through all the land before.

But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the less;
His honest tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,
Which made him want success.
With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a dauncing as he walks,
His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Without a bunch behind.

The story told, sir Topaz moved,
The youth of Edith erst approved,
To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome
All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,
The wind came rustling down a dell,
A shaking seized the wall;
Up spring the tapers as before,
The fairies bragly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the elphin show,

His spirits in him die :
When Oberon cries, "A man is near,
A mortal passion, cleepèd fear,

Hangs flagging in the sky." With that sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents faultering, ay for ruth, Entreats them pity graunt; For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wandering in the night

To tread the circled haunt; "Ah, losel vile," at once they roar: "And little skill'd of fairie lore,

Thy cause to come, we know: Now has thy kestrel courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thee woe." Then Will, who bears the whispy fire To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung; There, like a tortoise, in a shop He dangled from the chamber-top, Where whilome Edwin hung. The revel now proceeds apace, Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,

They sit, they drink, and eat; The time with frolic mirth beguile, And poor sir Topaz hangs the while Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down y-drops the knight:
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade,
Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er;
But wot ye well his harder lot?
His seely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
She softly stroak'd my youngling head,
And when the tale was done,
"Thus some are born, my son," she cries,
"With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none.

"But virtue can itself advance

To what the favourite fools of chance
By fortune seem design'd;

Virtue can gain the odds of Fate,
And from itself shake off the weight

Upon th' unworthy mind."

Thomas Parnell.-Born 1679, Died 1717.

809.-THE HERMIT.

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal
well :

Remote from men, with God he pass'd the days,

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seem'd Heaven itself, till one suggestion

rose;

That Vice should triumph, Virtue, Vice obey, This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:

His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his soul is lost :
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm Nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending
grow,

And skies beneath with answering colours glow:

But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fragments of a broken Sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the world by
sight,

To find if books, or swains, report it right
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly
dew),

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A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair.
Then near approaching, "Father, hail!" he
cried,

"And hail, my son," the reverend sire replied;

Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd,

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And talk of various kind deceived the road;
Till each with other pleased, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart.
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now sunk the Sun; the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey;
Nature in silence bid the world repose;
When near the road a stately palace rose :
There by the Moon through ranks of trees
they pass,

Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of

grass.

It chanced the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wandering stranger's
home:

Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive the livery'd servants wait;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they
drown,

Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, Along the wide canals the zephyrs play: Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep.

Up rise the guests, obedient to the call:
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced,
Which the kind master forced the guests to
taste.

Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch

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So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road,
The shining spoil his wily partner show'd.
He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling
heart,

And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part :

Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,

That generous actions meet a base reward.

While thus they pass, the Sun his glory shrouds,

The changing skies hang out their sable clouds;

A sound in air presaged approaching rain,
And beasts to covert scud across the plain.
Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair
retreat,

To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat.
'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground,
And strong, and large, and unimproved
around;

Its owner's temper, timorous and severe,
Unkind and griping, caused a desert there.
As near the miser's heavy doors they
drew,

Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began,

And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders

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And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace.

With still remark the pondering hermit view'd,

In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; "And why should such," within himself he cried,

"Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ?"

But what new marks of wonder soon take place

In every settling feature of his face;
When from his vest the young companion
bore

That cup, the generous landlord own'd before,
And paid profusely with the precious bowl
The stinted kindness of this churlish soul.
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
The Sun emerging opes an azure sky;
A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day:

The weather courts them from the poor retreat,

And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought

With all the travel of uncertain thought;
His partner's acts without their cause appear,
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness
here:

Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various shows.
Now Night's dim shades again involve the
sky,

Again the wanderers want a place to lie,
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh,
The soil improved around, the mansion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great :
It seem'd to speak its master's turn of
mind,

Content, and not to praise, but virtue kind.

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, Then bless the mansion, and the master greet:

Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise,

The courteous master hears, and thus replies: "Without a vain, without a grudging heart,

To him who gives us all, I yield a part:
From him you come, for him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer."
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,
Then talk of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave household round his hall
repair,

Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer.

At length the world, renew'd by calm

repose,

Was strong for toil, the dappled Morn arose ; Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept, Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, And writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride,

O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and died.

Horrour of horrours! what! his only son! How look'd our hermit when the fact was done;

Not Hell, though Hell's black jaws in sunder part,

And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.

Confused, and struck with silence at the deed,

He flies, but trembling, fails to fly with speed.

His steps the youth pursues; the country lay

Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the

way:

A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er Was nice to find; the servant trod before; Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.

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