Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub
[blocks in formation]

86. Ofric_The Lion .

Anon.
87. The Toper and the Flies

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

XVII.

[ocr errors]

90. How cold it is ..

Anon.

91. Elegy on the Death of a Husband

Anon.

92. The Art of Printing

Anon.

93. Night.

Anon.

94. The Lottery

Anon.

95. To Religion .

Watkins.

gô. 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 dissuade a young Lady, &c. Bull.
100. The Penitent Mother

Miss Holcroft.
101. The Washing-Day

Anon,
102. To a Wretch shivering in the Street

Anon.

XIX.

XXVI. 132. The Lass of Fair Wone. 133. On Health 134. Mortality

Bürger. Thomson.

Anon.

XXVII. 135. The Peasant of Auburn 136. On viewing the Corpse of a Sifter 137. The Mouse's Petition

Coombe.

Hurdis. Mrs. Barbauld.

.XXVLII.. 138. Elegy: Written on the Plain of FontenoyMatilda. 139. Corin's Profession ::

Peter Pindar, 140. Love and Induftry,

Miss Seward. 141. To the Sun: ...

Fawcett. 142. Hymn to Benevolence

Blacklock. 143. Soliloquy on my Last Six-pence.

Anon. XXIX. 144. The Freebooter

Bürger. 145. Lines on the Death of a Wife

Anona 146. My Native Home .

Mrs. Robinson. 147. A War Poem, on the late Mr. Blythe .... Anon.

.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][ocr errors]
[graphic][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

WHO

THO is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fix’d

eyes
Seem a heart overcharg’d to express ?
She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains, but her silence implies

The composure of settled distress.
No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek;

Cold and hunger awake not her care :
Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor wither'd bosom, half bare; and her cheek

Has the deathly pale hue of despair.
Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day,

Poor Mary, the maniac, has been;

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

As Mary, the Maid of the Inn,
Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight,

As she 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 whistled down the dark aisle.
She lov'd, and young Richard had settled the day,

And she hop'd to be happy for life;
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who

knew him would pity poor Mary, and say

That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,

And fat were the windows and door;
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,
And I'moaking in filence, with tranquil delight,

They liften’d to hear the wind roar. “ 'Tis pleasant," cry'd one, “ feated by the fire-side,

" 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 should wander the ruins about. " I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear

“ The hoarse ivy shake over my head; “ And could fancy I saw, half persuaded 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 lose !" with a sneer he reply'd, " I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,

16 And faint if the saw a white cow." “ Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?”

His companion exclaim'd with a smile; “ I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, “ And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough

“ From the alder that grows in the aisle.”

« ПредишнаНапред »