he groans in anguish; while the growling pack, blood-happy, hang at his fair-jutting chest, and mark his beauteous checker'd sides with gore. Of this enough. But if the sylvan youth, whose fervent blood boils into violence, must have the chase: behold, despising flight, the rous'd up lion, resolute and slow, advancing full on the portended spear, and coward-band, that circling wheel aloof. Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood, see the grim wolf; on him his shaggy foe vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die: or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar grins fell destruction to the monster's heart, let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. These Britain knows not; give, ye Britons, then, your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour

loose on the nightly robber of the fold:

him from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd, let all the thunder of the chace pursue, throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge high-bound, resistless: nor the deep morass refuse, but through the shaking wilderness pick your nice way; into the perilous flood bear fearless, of the raging instinct full; and as you ride the torrent, to the banks your triumph sound sonorous, running round from rock to rock, in circling echoes tost; then scale the mountains to their woody tops; rush down the dangerous steep; and o'er the lawn, in fancy swallowing up the space between pour all your speed into the rapid game. For happy he who tops the wheeling chase; has every maze evolv'd, and every guile

disclos'd; who knows the merits of the pack;
who saw the villian seiz'd, and dying hard,
without complaint, tho' by a hundred mouths
relentless torn: O glorious he, beyond
his daring peers! when the retreating horn
calls them to ghostly halls of gray renown,
with woodland honours grac'd; the fox's fur,
depending decent from the roof; and spread
round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce,
the stag's large front: he then is loudest heard,
when the night staggers with severer toils;
with feats Thessalian Centaurs never knew,
and their repeated wonders shake the dome.
What if the rougher sex by this fierce sport
is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy
e'er stain the bosom of the British Fair.
Far be the spirit of the chase from them;
uncomely courage, unbeseeming skill;
to spring the fence, to rein the prancing steed;
the cap, the whip, the masculine attire,
in which they roughen to the sense, and all
the winning softness of their sex is lost.
In them 't is graceful to dissolve at woe;
with every motion, every word, to wave
quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blush;
and from the smallest violence to shrink
unequal, then the loveliest in their fears;
and by this silent adulation, soft,

to their protection more engaging Man. O may their eyes no miserable sight, save weeping lovers, see! a nobler game, through Love's enchanting wiles pursued, yet fled, in chase ambiguous. May their tender limbs float in the loose simplicity of dress!

and, fashion'd all to harmony, alone
know they to seize the captivated soul,
in rapture warbled from love-breathing lips;
to teach the lute to languish; with smooth step,
disclosing motion in it's every charm,

to swim along, and swell the mazy dance;
to train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn;
to guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page;
to lend new flavour to the fruitful year,
and heighten Nature's dainties; in their race
to rear their graces into second life;
to give Society it's highest taste;
well-order'd home man's best delight to make;
and by submissive wisdom, modest skill,
with every gentle care-eluding art,
to raise the virtues, animate the bliss,
and sweeten all the toils of human life:
this be the female dignity and praise.

WINTER WALKS,

Solitary, and in pensive guise,

oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, and through the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard one dying strain to cheer the woodman's toil. Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse. While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, and each wild throat, whose artless strains so late swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shiv'ring sit on the dead tree, a dull despondent flock; with not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, and nought save chatt'ring discord in their note. O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye,

the

gun,

the music of the coming year destroy; and harmless unsuspecting harm, lay the weak tribes, a miserable prey,

in mingled murder, fluttering on the ground!

BENIGHTED TRAVELLER.

Now, black, and deep, the night begins to fall, a shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom, magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. Order confounded lies; all beauty void; distinction lost; and gay variety

one universal blot: such the fair power of light to kindle and create the whole. Drear is the state of the benighted wretch, who then, bewilder'd, wanders through the dark, full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge; nor visited by one directive ray,

from cottage streaming, or from airy hall. Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on, struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue, the wild-fire scatters round; or gather'd trails a length of flame deceitful o'er the moss: whither decoy'd by the fantastic blaze, now lost and now renew'd, he sinks absorpt, rider and horse, amid the miry gulph: while still, from day to day, his pining wife and plaintive children his return await, in wild conjecture lost. At other times, sent by the better genius of the night, innoxious, gleaming on the horses mane, the meteor sits; and shews the narrow path, that winding leads through pits of death, or else instructs him how to take the dang'rous ford.

BEES.

Ah see where robb'd, and murder'd, in that pit lies the still heaving hive! at ev'ning snatch'd, beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, and fix'd o'er sulphur; while, not dreaming ill, the happy people in their waxen cells,

sat tending public cares, and planning schemes of temp'rance, for winter poor; rejoic'd to mark full-flowing round, their copious stores. Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends; and, us'd to milder scents, the tender race, by thousands tumble from their honey'd domes, convolv'd, and agonizing in the dust.

And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring,
intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'd
ceaseless the burning Summer-heats away?
for this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste,
nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate?
O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long,
shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage,
awaiting renovation? When obliged,

must you destroy? Of their ambrosial food
can you not borrow; and, in just return,
afford them shelter from the wintry winds?
or as the sharp year pinches, with their own
again regale them on some smiling day?
see where the stony bottom of their town
looks desolate, and wild; with here and there
a helpless number, who the ruin'd state
survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death.
Thus a proud city, populous aud rich,
full of the works of peace, and high in joy,
at theatre, or feast, or sunk in sleep