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No Heaven's immortal (pring fhall yet arrive;


And man's majestic beauty bloom again,

Bright through th' eternal year of Love's triumphant

' reign.'


This truth fublime his fimple fire had taught.
In footh, 'twas almost all the fhepherd knew.
No fubtle nor fuperfluous lore he fought,
Nor ever wifh'd his Edwin to purfue.

Let man's own fphere (quoth he) confine his view,
Be man's peculiar work his fole delight.'
And much, and oft, he warn'd him, to eschew
Falfehood and guilt, and aye maintain the right,
By pleasure unfeduced, unawed by lawless might.


And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Wo, 'O never, never turn away thine ear.

Forlorn, is this bleak wilderness below,

Ah! what were man, fhould heaven refuse to hear To others do-(the law is not severe :) What to thyself thou wishest to be done. 'Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear, And friends, and native land; nor thofe alone; All human weal and wo learn thou to make thine own.'


See, in the rear of the warm funny shower,
The vifionory boy from fhelter fly!
For now the ftorm of summer-rain is o'er,
And cool, and fresh, and fragrant is the fky.
And, lo! in the dark eaft, expanded high,
The rainbow brightens to the fetting fun!
Fond fool, that deem'ft the ftreaming glory nigh,
How vain the chafe thine ardor has begun!
'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purpofed race be run.


Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age, When pleafure, wealth, or power, the bofom warm,

This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage, 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 pleafing fire: Fancy and Hope too foon shall of themselves expire.


When the long-founding curfew from afar
Loaded with lord lament the lonely gale,
Young Edwin, lighted by the evening tar,
Lingering and liftening, wander'd down the vale.
There would he dream of graves and corfes pale
And ghofts, 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 shrieks by fits the fhuddering ifles along.

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Or, when the fetting moon, in crimson dyed,
Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep,
To haunted stream, 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 firft, 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 waves unfold; And forth an hoft of little warriors march, Grafping the diamond lance and targe of gold. Their look was gentle, their demeanour böld, And green their helms, and green their filk attire; And here and there, right venerably add,

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


With merriment, and fong, and timbrels clear, A troep of dames from myrtle bowers advance ; The little warriors doff the targe and fpear,. And loud enlivening strains 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 coloured rays Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forefts blaze.


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



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 amusement flow; Even now his eyes with fmiles of rapture glow, As on he wanders through the fcenes of morn, Where the fresh flowers in living luftre blow, Where thoufand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are born.


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 him 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 grove.

The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark;

Crown'd with her pale the tripping milk-maid fings;
The whistling plowman ftalks afield; and, hark!
Down the ruff flope the ponderous waggon rings;
Through rustling corn the hare aftonish'd fprings;
Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge burfts away on wherring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in fequefter'd bower,
And fhrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.


O Nature, how in every charm fupreme!
Whofe votaries feast on raptures ever new!
O for the voice aud fire of seraphim,
To fing thy glories with devotion due!
Bleft be the day L'fcaped the wrangling erew,
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' ity;
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.


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 wrankling flime First gave you form! hence! left the Mufe fhould deign, (Though loath on theme fo mean to waste a rhyme) With vengeance to pursue your facrilegious crime.


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

Whose fong, fublimely fweet, ferenely gay,
Amused my childhood, and inform'd my youth.
O let your spirit ftill 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.


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 instructed 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.


Various and ftrange was the long-winded tale; And halls, and knights, and feats of arms display'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*, Midft fiends and fpectres, quench the moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride th' infuriate flood.


But when to horror his amazement rofe,

A gentler train the Beldam would rehcarse,

Allufion to SHAKESPEAR.

Macbeth. How now, ye fecret, black, and midnight hags, What is't you do?

Witches. A deed without a Name,


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