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rage,

This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's
And difappointment of her fting difarm.-
But why fhould forefight thy fond heart alarm?
Perish the lore that deadens young defire!
Purfue, poor imp, th' imaginary charm,

Indulge gay Hope, and Fancy's pleasing fire : Fancy and Hope too foon fhall of themfelves expire.

XXXII.

When the long founding curfew from afar
Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale,
Young Edwin lighted by the evening ftar,
Lingering and listening, wander'd down the vale.
There would he dream of graves, and coarses pale.;
And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng,
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail,
Till filenced by the owl's terrific fong,

Or blaft that fhrieks by fits the fhuddering ifles along.

XXXIII.

Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dyed, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted ftream, remote from man he.hied, Where Fays of yore their revels wont to keep; And there let Fancy roam at large, till fleep A vifion brought to his intranced fight. And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright, With inftantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of Night.

XXXIV. Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch Arofe, the trumpet bids the valves unfold': And forth an hoft of little warriors march, Grafping the diamon'd lance, and targe of gold. Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold, And green their helms, and green their filk attire: And here and there, right venerably old,

The long-robed minarels wake the warbling wire. And fome with mellow breath the martial pipe infpire.

XXXV.

With merriment, and fong, and timbrels clear,
A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance;
The little warrior's doff the targe and fear,
And loud enlivening ftrains provoke the dance.
They meet, they dart away, they wheel afkance;
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze;
Now bound aloft with vigorous fpring, then glance
Rapid along with many colour'd rays

Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forefts blaze..

XXXVI.

The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day,
Who fear'dit the vifion with thy clarion fhrill,
Fell chanticleer: who oft has reft away
My fancied good, and brought fubftantial ill!
O to thy curfed feream, difcordant fill,
Let Harmony aye fhut her gentle ear:
Thy boaftful mirth let jealous rivals fpill,
Infult thy creft, and gloffy pinions tear,
And ever in thy dreams the ruthlefs fox appear.

XXXVII.

Forbear, my Mufe. Let Love attune thy line. Revoke the fpell. Thine Edwin frets not fo, For how fhould he at wicked chance repine, Who feels from every change amufement flow? Even now his eyes with fimiles of rapture glow, As on he wanders through the fcene of morn, Where the fresh flowers in living luftre blow, Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are born.

XXXVIII.

But who the melodies of morn can tell?

The wild brook babbling down the mountain fide;
The lowing herd; the fheepfold's fimple bell;
The pipe of early fhepherd dim defcried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ;;

The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the univerfal

XXXIX.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;

grove.

Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid fings;
The whistling plowman stalks afield; and, hark!
Down the rough flope the ponderous waggon rings ;
Through rustling corn the hare aftonifh'd fprings;
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour;
The patridge burts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in fequefter'd bower,
And fhrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.

XL.

O Nature, how in every charm fupreme!
Whofe votaries fealt on raptures ever new!
O for the voice and fire of feraphim,
To fing thy glories with devotion due!
Bleft be the day I 'fcaped the wrangling crew,
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' fty;
And held high converfe with the godlike few,
Who to th' enraptur'd heart, and ear, and eye,
Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.

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XLI.

Hence ye, who fnare and ftupify the mind,
Sophifts, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!
Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind,
Who fpread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane,
And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain!

Hence to dark Error's den, whofe rankling flime
First gave you form! hence! left the Mufe fhould deign
(Though loath on theme fo mean to waste a ryhme)',
With vengeance to purfue your facrilegious crime.

XLII.

But hail, ye mighty mafters of the lay,
Nature's true fons, the friends of man and truth!

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Whofe fong, fublimely fweet, ferenely gay,
Amused my childhood, and inform'd my youth.
O let your spirit still my bofom footh,

Infpire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide!
Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth;
For well I know, where-ever ye refide,

There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide.

XLIII.

Ah me! abandon'd on the lonesome plain,

As yet poor
Edwin never knew
your lore,
Save when against the winter's drenching rain,
And driving fnow, the cottage fhut the door.
Then, as inftructed by tradition hoar,
Her legends when the Beldam 'gan impart,
Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er,

Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart;
Much he the tale admir'd, but more the tuneful art.

XLIV.

Various and ftrange was the long-winded tale;
And halls, and knights, and feats of arms difplay'd;
Or merry fwains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And fing, enamour'd of the nut-brown maid;
The moon-light revel of the fairy glade;
Or hags, that fuckle an infernal brood,
And ply in caves th' unutterable trade*,

Midt fiends and fpectres, quench the moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride th' infuriate flood.

XLV.

But when to horror his amazement rofe,
A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse,

* Allufion to SHAKESPEAR.

Macbeth. How now, ye fecret, black, and midnight hags,

What is't you do?

Witches. A deed without a Name.

C

A tale of rural life, a tale of woes,
The orphan-babes, and guardian uncle fierce.
O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce

That heart by luft of lucre fear'd to ftone!
For fure, if aught of virtue lait, or verfe,
To latet times fhall tender fouls bemoan,

Thofe helpless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone.

XLVI.

Behold, with berries fmear'd, with brambles torn*,
The babes now famifh'd lay them down to die.
'Midit the wild howl of dark fome woods forlorn,
Folded in one another's arms they lie;

Nor friend, nor ftranger, hears their dying cry:
For from the town the man returns no more.'
But thou, who Heaven's juft vengeance dareft defy,
This deed with fruitless tears fhalt foon deplore,
When Death lays waste thy houfe, and flames consume
thy store.

XLVII.

A ftifled fimile of ftern vindictive joy
Brighten'd one moment Edwin's farting tear.-
But why fhould gold man's feeble mind decoy,
And Innocence thus die by doom févere?'
O Edwin while thy heart is yet fincere,
Th' affaults of difcontent and doubt repel :
Dark even at noon-tide is our mortal sphere;
But let us hope,to doubt is to rebel,
Let us exult in hope that all fhall yet be well.

XLVIII.

Nor be thy generous indignation check'd,
Nor check'd the tender tear to Mifery given ;
From Guilt's contagious power shall that protect,
This foften and refine the foul for heaven.

* See the fine old ballad, called, The Children in the Wood.

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