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Plants that with early perfume feed the breeze

May belt each dank and noxious vapour chase.
The flaunting tulip, the carnation gay,

Turnfole and piony, and all the train
That love to glitter in the noon-tide ray,

Ill suit the copse where death and filence reign.
Not but perchance, to deck fome virgin's tomb,

Where vivlers sweet their twofold purple spread,
Some rose of maiden blush may faintly bloom,

Or with'ring hang its emblematic head,
These to renew with more than annual care

That wakeful love with penfive step will go ;
The hand that lifts the dibbie shakes with fear

Left haply it disturb the friend below.
Vain fear! for never fail disturber come

Potent enough to wake such sleep profound,
Til the dread herald to the day of doom

Pours from his trump the worli-diffolving sound.
Vain fear! yet who that boasts a heart to feel,

An eye to pity, would that fear reprove?
They only who are curft with breasts of steel

Can mock the foibles of surviving love.
Those foibles far beyond cold reason's claim

Have power the social charities to spread;
They feed, sweet tenderness! thy lambent fame,

Which, while it warms the heart, improves the head.
Its chemic aid a gradual heat applies
. That from the dross of self each with refines,
Extracts the liberal spirit, bids it rise

Till with priinæval purity it shines.
Take then, poor peasants, from the friend of Gray

His humbier praise; for Gray or fail'd to fee,
Or faw unnotic'd, what had wak'd a lay
· Rich in the pathos of true pcefy.
Yes, had he pac'd this church-way path along,

Or lean'd like nie against this ivy'd wall,
How fadly sweet had flow'd his Dorian song,

Then sweetest when it flow'd at nature's call.
Like Tadmor's sting, his comprehensive mind

Each plant's peculiar character could seize;
· And hence his moralizing * muse had join'd,

To all these fow'rs, a thousand fimiles.
But he, alas! in distant village.grave .

Has mix'd with dear maternal dust his own;

* This epithet is used to call to the reader's recolletion a paffage in Shakespear, descriptive of a character to which in its beft parts Mr. Gray's was not diffimilar, Duke Sen. But what said Jaques ?

Did he' not moralize this spectacle?
Firft Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimiles.

As you like it, 18 2. Scene I. ,

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Ev'n now the pang, which parting friendship gave,

Thrills at my heart, and tells me he is gone.
Take then from me the pensive strain that flows

Congenial to this consecrated gloom;
Where all that meets my eye fome symbol shows

Of grief, like mine, that lives beyond the tomb: Shows me that you, though doom'd the livelong year

For scanty food the toiling arm to ply,
Can smite your breatis, and find an inmate there

To heave, when mem'ry bids, the ready figh.
Still nurse that best of inmates, gentle fwains !
I Still act as heartfelt fympathy inspires;
The taste, which birth from education gains,

Serves but to chill affećtion's native fires,
To you more knowledge than wliat fhields from vice

Were but a gift would multiply your cares; Of matter and of mind let reasoners nice

Dispute; be patience yours, presumption theirs. You know (wbat more can earthly science know?)

That all must die; by revelation's ray Illum’d, you trust the allies plac'd below

These flowry tuits, fall rise again to day. . What if you deem, by hoar tradition led,

To you perchance devolv'd from Druids old, That parted fouls at folemn seafous tread

The circles that their shrines of clay enfold? What if you deem they some sad pleasure take

These poor memorials of your love to view, And scent the perfume for the planter's fake,

That breathies from vulgar rosemary and rue? Unfeeling Wit may scorn, and Pride may frown;

Yet Fancy, empress of the realms of song, Shall bless the decent mode, and reason own

It may be right-for who can prove i: wrong?

Lines addressed to a FOUNTAIN,

[From LYRIC Poems.]
CEQUESTERÖD Fountain! ever pure,
N Whose placid streamlet flows,
In filent lapfe, through gieus obscure,

Where timid fíocks repose:
Tired and disabled in the race, .
I quit ambition's fruitless chace,

To shape my course by thine ;
And, pleas’d, from serious trifles turn,
As thus, around thy little urn,

A votive wreath I twine.

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There every figure stands confest,
In all the sweet advantage drest

Of Candour's radiant robe-
There no mean cares admission find,
Love is the business of mankind,

And Honour rules the globe.

But if those gleams fallacious prove

That paint the world fo fair;
If heav'n has plac'd for gen'rous love

No soft asylum there;
If men fair faith, fair fame deride,
Bent on the crooked paths that guide

To Ini'rest's sordid shrine; .
Be yours, ye gloomy sons of Woe!
That melancholy truth to know,

The dream of bliss be mine.

Scenery by MOONLIGHT, MELNA and the GROst of HIDALLAN.


the VALES of Wever, a loco-descriptive Poem, by J.


TJERE as the filent orb of night
11 Silvers the crags with sacred light,
Pours through the gaping rocks her beams,
And Theds a glory on the strearns,
Old towers and ramparts burst around,
Inchantment walks the hoary ground:
Black shades contrast the illumin'd scene,
And horror frowns those dells between.
Pale o'er the woodlands moonshine glows,
And pale the lustrous deluge flows,
Rolls o'er the graves on Wever's brow,
While yellow vapours swim below.'

Such scenes the forrowing Melna fought,
Her foul with pure affection fraught,
Pierc'd with quick step and throbbing breast
Cona's rude vales, distracted guest;
Bath'd with unpitied tears the earth,
And figh'd and mourn'd her hapless birth;
Callid on Hidallan's darling name, i

And wail'd her warrior's thirst of fame.
. Thus while she moan'd, remorseless night
Dimm'd the last blush of western light,

Wove a black canopy of cloud, i
And round her flung his sable shroud;
No stars arose with changeful blaze,
To cheer her path's bewilder'd maze:
No moon-beams glimmering through the trees
Trembled obedient to the breeze.
A while the weeping beauty stood
(Cold tremors courling through her blood),
Then screaming rush'd, with furious tread,
Along the mansions of the dead;
Where at this hour o'er mouldering graves
His beard of snow the thistle waves.
At length more calm, with looks resign'd,
She check'd the tumult of her mind,
Rais'd her white arms, implor’d the moon
To shed on night her placid noon,
Then sunk in agony of prayer,
Pale kneeling monument of care !

Queen of the skies, who silver'st wide

This dreary world with glory's fea,
Roll from thine orb the radiant tide,

And pour thy lucid streams on me!


Here muffled dark in horrors dread,

I bow to sacred Love's command,
While anguish clasps my aching head,

And terror chills with palsied hand :


Oh hear! oh guide these wilder'd feet

To where my lov'd Hidallan stays;
Give me his long-loft forım to meet,

To light his eyes with fond amaze!


Give him, oh! ere with life I part,

Give him to lull these wild alarms;
Once more to footh my dying heart,

Once more to bless his Melna's arms !

Then ceas'd the fair. With swimming eyes

She mark'd the Nade-embosom'd skies, 1797.

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