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She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains--but her silence implies
The
composure

of settled distress !
No aid, no compassion, the maniac will seek,

Cold and hunger awake not her care ; [bleak Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare; and her cheek

Has the deadly pale hue of despair !
Yet cheerful and happy-nor distant the day-

Poor Mary the maniac has been:
The trav'ller remembers, who journey'd this way,
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay,

As Mary, the Maid of the Inn!
Her cheerful address fill’d the guests with delight,

As she welcom’d them in with a smile ;
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night,

When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
She loved ; and young Richard had settled the day,

And she hop'd to be happy for life-
But Richard was idle and worthless; and they
Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say,

That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in Autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,

And fast were the windows and doorTwo guests sat enjoying the fire that burn'd bright, And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight,

They listen’d to hear the wind roar. “ 'Tis pleasant,” cried one, « seated by the fire-side,

To hear the wind whistle without." “ A fine night for the Abbey !"* his comrade replied: “ Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried,

Who should wander the ruins about.
“ I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble

The hoarse ivy shake over my head ;
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,

Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appearst: 94.3 17

For this wind might awaken the dead.l. *s035 I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,

“ That Mary would venture there now?". ) sobre Then wager, and lose,” with a sneer, he replied, “ I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,

And faint if she saw a white cow !" « Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?"

His companion exclaim'd with a smile; - I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough

From the alder that grows in the aisle.” With fearless good humour did Mary comply,

And her way to the Abbey she bent The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,

She shiver'd with cold as she went. O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid,

Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight; Through the gateway she enter'd she felt not afraid Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade

Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast

Howl'd dişmally round the old pile;'; Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd, And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near,

And hastily gather'd the bough
When the sound of a yoice seem'd to rise on her ear.
She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear, i

And her heart panted fearfully now!.:: 111
The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head

She listen’d ;-nought else could she hear:
The wind ceas'd, her heart sunk in her bosom with

dread,

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For she heard in the ruins distinctly-the tread

Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,

She crept, to conceal herself there;
That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw moon-light two ruffians appear,

And between them a corpse did they bear! Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold !

Again the rough wind hurried by
It blew off the hat of the one, and behold !
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rollid!

She fell-and expected to die ! • Curse the hat !” he exclaims" Nay come on,

and fast hide
The dead body !" his comrade replies.
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,

And fast through the Abbey she flies !
She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door,

She look'd horribly eager around : Her limbs could support their faint burden no more ; But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor,

Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, · For a moment the hat met her view Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, ó heaven! what cold horror thrilld through

her heart, I When the name of her Richard she knew !

Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by,

His gibbet is now to be seen;
Not far from the inn it engages the eye,
The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,
-Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn!

Southey.

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See the monster sternly sitting

In his fleet and nimble car,
In a posture well-befitting

Such a real despotic Czar!.
See his steeds with ardour glowing

In their long and restless flight;
And their manes how gently flowing,

As they hasten out of sight!
See the groups that round him gather,

With their strange conflicting motions ;
Hear the hue and cry of father,

Like the war of meeting oceans !
See the hungry with their cravings,

Which the voice of nature feeds ;
And the miser with his savings,
And his false and borrow'd needs !

primatge 10,097 pont
Why yon deep but smother'd wailing

-H
From yon splendid female train?
Don't you see their beauty failing,

Since their moon is in its wane?

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Seraph!

From thy sphere! Whatever star contain thy glory ;

In the eternal depths of heaven

Albeit thou watchest with the “seven," Though through space infinite and hoary

Before thy bright wings worlds be driven,

The archangels, said to be seven in number.

Yet hear !
Oh! think of her who holds thee dear!

And though she nothing is to thee,
Yet think that thou art all to her.
Thou canst not tell, and never be
Such pangs decreed to aught save me,

The bitterness of tears.
Eternity is in thy years,
Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes ;
With me thou canst not sympathize,

Except in love, and there thou must

Acknowledge that more loving dust
Ne'er wept beneath the skies.
Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou see'st

The face of him who made thee great,
As he hath made me of the least
Of those, cast out from Eden's gate.

Yet, Seraph dear!

Oh hear!
For thou hast loved me, and I would not die

Until I know,'what I must dié in knowing,
That thou forget'st in thine eternity

Her whose heart death could not keep from o'erFor thee, immortal essence as thou art ! [flowing Great is their love, who love in sin and fear;

And such, I feel, are waging in my heart
A war unworthy: to an Adamite
Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear,
For sorrow is our element ;

Delight
An Eden kept afar from sight,
Though sometimes with our visions blent.

The hour is near
Which tells me we are not abandon'd quite

Appear! Appear!

Seraph!
My own Azaziel ! be but here,
And leave the stars to their own light!

Byron

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