88. Giles Jollup the Grave & Brown Sally Green Lewis.
89. William Penn, Nathan, and the Bailiff Peter Pindar..

96. To a Lady, who refused to accept a Knife Sheridan.

XVIII.

97. Elegy on the Thirty-first of December

Anon.

98. The Prostitute.

Anon.

99. Elegy. Written to diffuade a young Lady, &c.

Bull.

104. Canzonet." Can aught be more fair," &c. Hurdis.

105. The Falling Tower.

106. To the Snow-drop

Anon.

Bidlake.

107. Lines presented with an Almanack, 1797. Pratt.

111. Tribute to the Memory of a Deceased Friend Rofcoe.

120. To a Moth, fluttering about a Candle

121. Imitation of Horace, Book xvi. Ode 2. . Haflings.

Anon.

125. Elegy. Written in a Country Church-Yard. Gray.

138. Elegy. Written on the Plain of Fontenoy Matilda.

139. Corin's Profeffion ::

140. Love and Industry,

141. To the Sun...

Peter Pindar.

Mifs Seward.

142. Hymn to Benevolence

143. Soliloquy on my Laft Six-pence.

144. The Freebooter

XXIX.

145. Lines on the Death of a Wife

146. My Native Home . .

147. A War Poem, on the late Mr. Blythe

Fawcett.

Blacklock.

Anon.

Bürger.

Anon.

Mrs. Robinfon.

Anon.

SOUTHEY.

HO is fhe, the poor maniac, whofe wildly-fix'd

WHO

eyes

Seem a heart overcharg'd to exprefs?

She weeps not, yet often and deeply the fighs;
She never complains, but her filence implies
The compofure of fettled diftrefs.

No aid, no compaffion the maniac will feek;
Cold and hunger awake not her care:
Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor wither'd bofom, half bare; and her cheek
Has the deathly pale hue of defpair.

Yet cheerful and happy, nor diftant the day,

Poor Mary, the maniac, has been;

The trav❜ller remembers, who journey'd this way,
No damfel fo lovely, no damfel fo gay,

As Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

Her cheerful addrefs fill'd the guests with delight,
As fhe 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 whiftled down the dark aifle.

She lov'd, and young Richard had fettled the day,
And the hop'd to be happy for life;

But Richard was idle and worthlefs, and they
Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and fay
That fhe was too good for his wife.

'Twas in autumn, and formy and dark was the night,
And faft were the windows and door;
Two guefts fat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,
And fmoaking in filence, with tranquil delight,
They liften'd to hear the wind roar.

" "Tis pleafant," cry'd one, "feated by the fire-fide,
"To hear the wind whistle without."
"A fine night for the abbey," his comrade reply'd.
"Methinks a man's courage would now be well try'd,
"Who fhould wander the ruins about.

"I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear "The hoarfe ivy fhake over my head; "And could fancy I faw, half perfuaded by fear, "Some ugly old abbot's white fpirit appear; "For this wind might awaken the dead."

"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cry'd,

"That Mary would venture there now!" "Then wager and lofe !" with a fneer he reply'd, "I'll warrant fhe'd fancy a ghoft by her fide, "And faint if the faw a white cow."

"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaim'd with a smile;

"I fhall win, for I know fhe will venture there now, "And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough "From the alder that grows in the aifle.”