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Every which was to a damzell hight; For all the pricfts were damzells, in foft linnen dight.

$180. Wrath.

AFTER that varlet's fight, it was not long

Ere on the plaine faft pricking Guion spide One in bright armes embattailed full strong, That as the funny beams doe glance and glide Upon the trembling wave, fo fhined bright, And round about him threw forth sparkling fire, That feemed him to enflame on every fide: His freed was bloody red, and fomed ire, When with the maistring fpur he did him roughly stire.

Approaching nigh he never staid to greet, Ne chaffer words, proud courage to provoke,

But prickt fo fierce, that underneath his feet The mouldring duft did round about him fmoke, Both horse and man nigh able for to choke;

And fairely couching his ftecl-headed spear, Him first faluted with a sturdy ftroke.

And him befide rides fierce revenging. Wrath, Upon a lyon, loth for to be led;

And in his hand a burning brond he hath, The which he brandisheth about his head ; His eyes did hurle forth fparkles fiery red, And ftared ftern on all that him beheld, As afhes pale of hue, and feeming dead; And on his dagger ftill his hand he held, Trembling thro' hafty rage, when choler in him fwell'd.

His ruffin raiment all was ftain'd with blood Which he had fpilt, and all to rage yrent,

Thro' unadvifed rafhness woxen wood; For of his hands he had no government, Ne car'd for bloud in his avengement; But when the furious fit was overpaft, His cruel facts he often would repent,

Yet, wilful man, he never would forecast, How many mischiefs fhould enfue his heedless haft!

Full many mifchiefs follow cruel Wrath; Abhorred bloud fhed, and tumultuous ftrife, Unmanly murther, and unthrifty feath, Bitter defpight, with rancour's rufty knife, And fretting grief, the enemy of life;

And these and many evils more haunt ire, The fwelling fplene, and phrenzy raging rife, The fhaking palfey, and St. Francis' fire, Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire.

SONNETS, by SMITH. $181. To the Moon.. QUEEN of the filver bow! by thy pale beam, Alone and penfive, I delight to ftray, And watch thy fhadow trembling in the stream, Or mark the floating clouds that crofs thy

way.

And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light Sheds a foft calm upon my troubled breaft; And oft I think-Fair planet of the night, That in thy orb the wretched may have reft: The fufferers of the earth perhaps may go

Releas'd by death-to thy benignant fphere, And the fad children of defpair and woe

Forget in thee, their cup of forrow here. O! that I foon may reach thy world ferene, Poor wearied pilgrim-in this toiling feene!

$182. On the Departure of the Nightingak. SWEET poet of the woods-a long adieu! Farewel, foft minstrel of the early year! Ah! 'twill be long ere thou shalt fing anew,

And pour thy mufic on the night's dull er.' Whether on fpring thy wandering fights aw, Or whether filent in our groves you dwell, The penfive mufe thall own thee for her mare, And ftill protect the fong the loves fo well. With cautious step the love-lorn youth fhall gi Thro' the lone brake that fhades thy moffy ne And thepherd girls from eyes profane thall tick

The gentle bird, who fings of pity beft: For ftill thy voice fhall foft affections move, And still be dear to forrow, and to love!

§ 183. Written at the Clofe of Spring. THE garlands fade that Spring fo lately were, Each fimple flow'r which the had nurs'd in dew, Anemonies, that fpangled every grove, The primrofe wan, and harc-bell mildly blo No more fhall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain, Till Spring again fhall call forth every bell, And drefs with humid hands her wrens again.

Ah! poor humanity! fo frail, fo fair,

Are the fond vifions of thy early day, Till tyrant paffion, and corrofive care,

Bid all thy fairy colours fade away! Another May new buds and flow'rs thall bring; Ah! why has happiness-no fecond Spring?

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Her pencil fickening Fancy throws away,

And weary Hope reclines upon the tomb; And points my wishes to that tranquil fhore, Where the pale fpectre Care pursues no more.

I

$185. To Night.

LOVE thee, mournful fober-fuited night, When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane, And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light

Hangs o'er the waters of the reftlefs main. In deep depreffion funk, th' enfeebled mind Will to the deaf, cold elements complain, And tell th' embofom'd grief, however vain, To fullen furges and the view lefs wind. Tho' no repofe on thy dark breaft I find,

I ftill enjoy thee, cheerlefs as thou art; For in thy quiet gloom th' exhaufted heart Is calm, tho wretched; hopelefs, yet refign'd. While to the winds and waves its forrows given,

§188. Written at Pensburft, in Autumn 1788. YE tow'rs fublime, deferted now and drear,

Ye woods, deep fighing to the hollow blast, The mufing wanderer loves to linger wear,

While Hiftory points to all your glories paft: And ftartling from their haunts the timid deer, To trace the walks obfcur'd by maited fern, Which Waller's foothing lyre were wont to hear, But where now clamours the difcordant hern!

The fpoiling hand of Time may overturn

Thefe lofty battlements, and quite deface The fading canvas whence we love to learn Sydney's keen look, and Sachariffa's grace; But fame and beauty ftill defy decay, Sav'd by th' historic page, the poet's tender lay!

$ 189. Elegy.

May reach-tho' loft on earth-the ear of "Hea-DARK gathering clouds involve the threat

ven!

§ 186. To Tranquillity.

IN this tumultuous fphere, for thee unfit,
How feldom art thou found-Tranquillity!
Unlefs 'tis when with mild and downcaft eye
By the low cradles thou delight'ft to fit
Gf fleeping infants, watching the foft breath,

And bidding the fweet flumberers eafy lie;
Or fometimes hanging o'er the bed of death,
Where the poor languid fufferer hopes to die.
O beauteous filter of the halcyon peace!

I fure fhall find thee in that heavenly fcene Where care and anguifh fhall their power refign; Where hope alike and vain regret fhall ceafe; And Memory, loft in happiness ferene,

Repeat no more—that mifery has been mine!

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ening fkies,

The fea heaves confcious of th' impending gloom,

Deep hollow murmurs from the cliffs arife;

They come-the Spirits of the Tempest come!

'O! may fuch terrors mark th' approaching

night

'As reign'd on that thefe ftreaming eyes deplore! Flash, ye red fires of heaven, with fatal light, . And with conflicting winds, ye waters, roar! 'Loud and more loud ye foaming billows burst! 'Ye warring elements more fiercely rave!

Till the wide waves o'erwhelm the spot accurft • Where ruthless Avarice finds a quiet grave!' Thus with clafp'd hands, wild looks, and streaming hair,

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While fhricks of horror broke her trembling speech, Survey'd the threatening ftorm and defart beach. A wretched maid, the victim of despair,

Then to the tomb where now the father flept Whose rugged nature bade her forrows flow, Frantic the turn'd-and beat her breast and wept, Invoking vengeance on the duft below.

Lo! rifing there above each humbler heap, Yon cypher'd stones his name and wealth relate,

Who gave his fon, remorfelefs, to the deep, 'While I, his living victim, curfe my fate.

'O my loft love! no tomb is plac'd for thee, That may to ftrangers eyes thy worth impart; Thou hast no grave but in the ftormy fea, And no memorial but this breaking heart. Forth to the world a widow'd wanderer • driven,

I

pour

to winds and waves th' unheeded tear, Try with vain effort to submit to heaven, And fruitlefs call on him "who cannot

"hear."

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O might I fondly clafp him once again,

While o'er my head th' infuriate billows pour,
Forget in death this agonizing pain,

And feel his father's cruelty no more!
Part, raging waters part, and fhew beneath,
In your dread caves, his pale and mangled form;
Now, while the demons of defpair and death
Ride on the blaft, and urge the howling ftorm!
Lo! by the lightnings momentary blaze,
I fee him rife the whitening waves above,
No longer fuch as when in happier days
He gave th' enchanted hours-to me and love.
Such as when daring the enchafed fea,
And courting dangerous toil, he often faid,
That every peril, one foft fmile from me,
One figh of fpecchlefs tenderness, o'erpaid.
But dead, disfigur'd, while between the roar
Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear,
And feem to fay-Ah, wretch! delay no more,
But come, unhappy mourner-incet me here.
Yet powerful fancy bid the phantom stay,
Still let me hear him '-'Tis already paft;
Along the waves his fhadow glides away,
I lofe his voice amid the deafening blaft.

• Ah! wild illufion, born of frantic pain!

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He hears not, comes not from his watery bed; My tears, my anguifh, my defpair are vain, Th' infatiate ocean gives not up its dead.

'Tis not his voice! Hark! the deep thunders roll; Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail; Approach, ye horrors that delight my foul, Despair, and Death, and Defolation, hail !' The ocean hears-th' embodied waters come, Rife o'er the land, and with refiftless sweep Tear from its base the proud aggreffor's tomb, And bear the injur'd to eternal fleep!

ANON.

$ 190. Elegy to Pity. HAIL, lovely Pow'r! whofe bofom heaves the figh,

When Fancy paints the feene of deep distress; Whofe tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,

When rigid Fate denies the pow'r to blefs. Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey

From flow'ry meads, can with that figh compare:

Net dew drops glittering in the morning ray,

Scem near fo beauteous as that failing tear.

Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;

Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies; No blood-ftain'd traces mark thy blamelefs way, Beneath thy feet no hapless infect dies. Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me, To fpring the partridge from the guileful foe, From fecret fnares the ftruggling bird to free,

And top the hand uprais'd to give the blow.

And when the air with heat meridian glows, And Nature droops beneath the conquering gleam,

Let us, low wandering where the current fows,
Save finking flies that float along the ftream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy fympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in Friendship's griefs to bear a thare,
And justly boast the generous feeling heart.
Teach me to foothe the helplefs orphan's grief,
With timely aid the widow's woes affuage,
To Mifery's moving cries to yield relief,

And be the fure refource of drooping age.
So when the genial spring of life shail fade,
And finking nature owns the dread decay,
Some foul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the clote of life's eventful day.

191. Extral from a Poem on his orun approaching Death, by MICHAEL BRUCE.

NOW fpring returns; but not to me returns

The vernal joy my better years have known: Dim in my breaft life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown. Starting and fhiv'ring in th' unconftant wird, Meagre and pale, the ghoft of what I was, Beneath fome blafted tree I lie reclin`d,

And count the filent moments as they paß: The winged moments, whofe unftaying speed No art can ftop, or in their courfe arreft; Whofe flight fhall fhortly count me with the dead,

And lay me down in peace with them that ret. Oft morning dreams prefage approaching fate; And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true. Led by pale ghofts, I enter death's dark gate, And bid the realms of light and life adicu ! I hear the helplefs wail, the fhriek of woe; I fee the muddy wave, the dreary thore, The fluggish fticams that flowly creep below, Which mortals vifit, and return no more. Farewel, ye blooming fields! ye cheerful plains! Enough for me the churchyard's londy mound,

Where Melancholy with ftill Silence reigns, And the rank grafs waves o'er the cheerl.fs ground.

There let me wander at the clofe of eve, When fleep fits dewy on the labourer's eyes, The world and all its bufy follies leave,

And talk with wisdom where my Daphnis lies. There let me fleep, forgotten, in the clav, When Death fhall fhut thefe weary aching eyes, Reft in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last morn

'arife.

Sonnet to Twilight.

MISS WILLIAMS.

§ 192.
MEEK Twilight! hafte to throud the folar ray,
And bring the hour my penfive fpirit loves;
When o'er the hill is fhed a paler day,
That gives to ftillness, and to night, the groves.
Ah! let the gay, the rofeate morning hail,
When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
She bids freth beauty live along the vale,
And rapture tremble in the vocal shade:
Sweet is the lucid morning's op'ning flow'r,
Her choral melodies benignly rife,
Yet dearer to my foul the fhadowy hour,
At which her bloffoms clofe, her mufic dies:
For then mild nature, while the droops her head,
Wakes the foft tear 'tis luxury to shed.

§ 193. Sonnet to Expreffion.

MISS WILLIAMS.

EXPRESSION, child of foul! I love to trace
Thy ftrong enchantments, when the poet's lyre,
The painter's pencil, catch the vivid fire,
And beauty wakes for thee cach touching grace!
But from my frighted gaze thy form avert,
When horror chills thy tear, thy ardent figh,
When phrenzy rolls in thy impaffion'd eye,
Or guilt lives fearful at thy troubled heart:
Nor ever let my thudd'ring fancy hear
The wafting groan, or view the pallid look
Of him the Mufes lov'd when hope forfook
His fpirit, vainly to the Mufes dear-
Fortharm'd with heavenly fong,this bleeding breaft
Mourns it could fharpen ill, and give despair noreft!

$194. Sonnet to Hope.

MISS WILLIAMS.

EVER fkill'd to wear the form we love!

O, To bid the fhapes of fear and grief depart,

Come, gentle Hope! with one gay fimile remove
The latting fadnefs of an aching heart;
Thy voice, benign enchantrets! let me hear;
Say that for me fome pleafures yet fhall bloom!
That fancy's radiance, friendthip's precious tear,
Shall foften, or fhall chafe, misfortune's gloom.-
But come not glowing in the dazzling ray

Which once with dear illufions charm'd my eye!
O strew no more, fweet flatterer! on my way
The flow'rs I fondly thought too bright to die.
Vifions leís fair will footh my penfive breaft,
That afks not happinefs, but longs for rett!

$195. Sonnet to the Moon.

MISS WILLIAMS.

THE glitt'ring colours of the day are fled-
Come, melancholy orb! that dwell'it with
night,

Come! and o'er earth thy wand'ring luftre shed,
Thy deepeft thadow and thy fofteft light.

To me congenial is the gloomy grove,
When with faint rays the floping uplands fhine;
That gloom, thofe penfive rays, alike I love,
Whole fadnefs feems in fympathy with mine!
But most for this, pale orb! thy light is dear,
For this, benignant orb! I hail thee moft,
That while I pour the unavailing tear,
And mourn that hope to me, in youth is loft!
Thy light can vifionary thoughts impart,
And lead the Mufe to footh a fuff'ring heart.

$196.

RURAL ELEGANCE.

An Ode to the Duchefs of Somerfet.
Written in 1750.
SHENSTONE.

WHILE orient fkies reftore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;
Amid the fprightly fcenes of morn,
Will aught the Mufe inspire!
O, peace to yonder clamorous horn
That drowns the facred lyre!

Ye rural thanes that o'er the moffy down
Some panting, timorous hare pursue;
Does nature mean your joys alone to crown?
Say, docs the fmoorh her lawns for you?
For you does echo bid the rocks reply,
And urg'd by rude constraint resound the jovial cry?
See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn

The wretched fwain your fport furvey;
He finds his faithful fences torn,

He finds his labour'd crops a prey;
He fees his flock no more in circles feed;
Haply beneath your ravage bleed,
And with no random curfes loads the deed.

Nor yet, ye fwains, conclude
That nature smiles for you

alone;

Your bounded fouls, and your conceptions crude,
The proud, the felfifh boaft difown:

Yours be the produce of the foil:

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may it ftill reward your toil!

Nor ever the defenceless train

Of clinging infants ask fupport in vain!

But though the various harveft gild your plains,
Does the mere landfcape featt your eye?
Or the warm hope of diftant gains
Far other caufe of glee fupply?
Is not the redftreak's future juice
The fource of your delight profound,
Where Ariconiun pours her gens profuse,
Purpling a whole horizon round?
Athirft ye praife the limpid ftream, 'tis true:
But though, the pebbled fhores among,
It mimic no unpleafing fong,

The limpid fountain murmurs not for you.

Unpleas'd ye fee the thickets bicom,
Unpleas'd the fpring her flow'ry robe refume;
Unmov'd the mountain's airy puc,
The dappled mead without a fini.c.

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O let a rural confcious Mufe,

For well the knows, your froward fenfe accufe: Forth to the folemn oak you bring the fquare, And fpan the maffy trunk, before you cry, 'tis fair. Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train,

If haply from your haunts ye ftray
To wafte with us a fummer's day,
Exclude the taste of ev'ry fwain,
Nor our untutor'd fenfe difdain :
"Tis nature only gives exclufive right
To relifh her fupreme delight;

She, where the pleafes, kind or coy,
Who furnishes the fcene, and forms us to enjoy.
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her aufpicious aid refin'd;

Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or humble haie-bell paints the plain,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :
For fuch the rivers dath the foaming tides,
The mountain fweils, the dale fubfides;
Even thriftlels furze detains their wand'ring
sight,

And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.

With what fufpicious fearful care

The fordid wretch fecures his claim,
If haply fome luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his

What fcruples left fome future birth [name!
Should litigate a span of earth!

Bonds, contracts, fcoffients, names unmeet for profe,

The towering Mufe endures not to difclofe; Alas! her unrevers'd decree,

More comprehenfive and more free, Her lavith charter, tafte, appropriates all we fee. Let gondoles their painted flags unfold, And be the folemn day enroll'd,

When, to confirm his lofty plea,
In nuptial fort, with bridal gold,

The grave Venetian weds the fea :
Each laughing Mufe derides the vow;
Even Adria fcorns the mock embrace,

To fome lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
Allotted, from his natal hour,
With all her myrtle fhores in dow'r,
His breaft to admiration prone
Enjoys the fraile upon her face,
Enjoys triumphant every grace,

And finds her more his own.
Fatigued with form's oppreffive laws,
When Somerfet avoids the great;
When, cloy'd with merited applaufe,
She fecks the rural calm retreat;
Does the not praife cach moffy cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell?
When deafen'd by the loud acclaim,

Which genius grac'd with, rank obtains,
Could the not more delighted hear
Yon throftie chaunt the rifing year?
Coord the not furn the wreaths of fame,
To crop the primofe of the plains ?

Does the not fweets in each fair valley find, Loft to the fons of pow'r, unknown to half-mankind?

Ah, can she covet there to fee
The fplendid flaves, the reptile race,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knee,
That flight her merit, but adore her place ›
Far happier, if aright I deem,

When from gay throngs, and gilded spires,
To where the lonely halcyons play,
Her philofophic ftep retires:
While, ftudious of the incral theme,
She to fome finooth fequefter'd stream
Likens the fwain's inglorious day:
Pleas'd from the flow'ry margin to furvey
How cool, ferenc, and clear, the current ge
away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Who flight the fweetly penfive mind!
On whole fair birth the Graces miid,
And ev'ry Mufe, prophetic fmil 'd,
Not that the poet's boasted fire

Should fame's wide-echoing trumpet fwell; Or on the music of his lyre

Each future age with rapture dwell; Tho' vaunted tweets of praise remove, Yet fhall fuch bofoms claim a part In all that glads the human heart; Yet thefe the fpirits, form'd to judge and prove All nature's charms immenfe, and heaven's un

bounded love.

And, O! the transport moft allied to fong,
In fome fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch foft hints from nature's tongue,
And bid Arcadia bicom arcund:
Whether we fringe the floping hill,

Or finooth below the verdant mead;
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead; Or in the horrid bramble's room Bid carelefs groups of roses bloom; Or let fome thelter'd lake ferene Reflect flow'rs, woods, and fpires, and brighten all the scene.

O fweet difpofal of the rural hour!

O beauties never known to cloy! While worth and genius haunt the favour'd bow'r,

And ev'ry gentle breaft partakes the joy! While charity at eve furveys the fwain Enabled by thefe toils to cheer

A train of helplefs infants dear, Speed whittling home acrofs the plain; See vagrant luxury, her handmaid gown, For half her graceless deeds atone, And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with her own.

Why brand thefe pleafures with the name Of foft, unfocial toils, of indolence and shame? Search but the garden or the wood,

Let yon ad:nir'd carnation own,

Not all was meant for raiment or for food,
Not all for needful ufe alone;

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