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There beat her heart, and heav'd her breaft,
And pleaded every sense;
Did blaft her innocence.
Their fallow blooms to shed,
Her cheek its roses fled:
The ruddier cherries stain,
Her waist new weight sustain.
The yellow corn to ted,
And shook with tender dread.
Along the stubble field;
No longer be conceal'd.
With furious voice revil'd: “ Hence from my sight! I'll none of thee
I harbour not thy child."
With clenched fist he gripes,
Her fide with sounding stripes.
He ribb’d with bloody wales; And thrust her out, though black the night,
Though sleet, and storm, assails.
The maiden had to roam ;
And fought her lover's home.
Before thou mad'st a wife; For this, upon my tender breast
These livid stripes are rife :
“ Behold." —And then, with bitter sobs,
She sank upon the floor“ Make good the evil thou hast wrought;
“My injur’d name restore." “ Poor soul; I'll have the hous'd and nurs'd:
Thy terrors I lament.
The old one shall repent."
That saves not my good name:
Oh, leave me not to shame;
Our union sanctify'd;
Receive me for thy bride !"
The honours of my line :
To harbour thee as mine?
Shalt yet retain my love
Our former transports prove."
May pangs in hell await!
I was not for thy mate.
Nor God's just judgments dread
Defile thy marriage bed.
In hopeless shame immerst;
While horrid curses burst.
Unfooth'd thy grinning woe:
And sink to fiends below."
Collected then, she started up,
And through the hilling fleet, Through thorn and briar, through flood and mire,
She fled with bleeding feet. " Where now," she cry'd, “my gracious God!
What refuge have I left?”
Of hope in man bereft.
Beneath the bow'r unbleft;
Prepar'd her only reft.
Assail'd her shudd'ring frame;
With wail and weeping came.
With hafty hand she drew,
And the sweet babe she slew.
Her soul its guilt abhorr'd:
deed ? Have mercy on me, Lord !" With bloody nails, besides the pond,
Its shallow grave she tore:
Thou canst not suffer more :
Thy wound fhall bleed afresh,
Thy mother's mould'ring flesh."
Her skull is still to show;
Three spans in length, below.
Where falls no rain nor dew :
A hov'ring fire so blue.
And nightly, when the ravens come,
Her ghost is seen to glide;
and tries to quench the flame,
H! what avail the largest gifts of Heav'n,
Health is the vital principle of bliss,
Behold the wretch who slugs his life away;
While he whom toil has brac'd, or manly play, Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day. O! who can speak the vig’rous joys of health ?
Unclogg'd the body, unobscur'd the mind :
The temp’rate ev'ning falls serene and kind.
See! how the younglings frilk along the meads,
Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds:
WIFT o'er the high grass sweeps the blast,
the green; The gale is paft,
No more the silver shade is seen. Saw
ye the lightning flash along the fky? Save yonder blasted oak,
A drear memorial of the with’ring Aroke, It leaves no trace to guide the foll’wing eye.
Children of men! and such your lot;
Ye live your little hour, and die and are forgot! What, then, avail the jewell’d crown of Pow'r,
Pomp's ermin'd robe, or Glory's death-red sword?
What, then, the Wise one's dreams, the Miser's hoard? When Death proclaims th’ irrevocable hour,
Life's vain distinctions cease; th' eternal doom
Bids all the sons of clay be equal in the tomb. What though Earth's millions the dark realms explore,
No cheering tidings reach mankind from thence, For there the eye of Wisdom sees no more,
And silent is the tongue of Eloquence. For no one of th’ innumerable dead
Revisits men from that obscure abode; For never spirit twice could tread
The dark, the dreadful road.
Why sleeps the poet—he whose magic song
Whose shadowy portals bear the ominous line, • Quit ev'ry hope, all ye who enter here !"
Why sleeps the bard divine,
“ Soar'd on the seraph wings of Extasy?”
the laws of nature to our eye,