I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my fide

From her white arm down funk her head:

She, fhivering, figh'd—and died.

HE peaceful evening breathes her balmy ftore,
The playful Tchool-boys wanton o'er the green,
Where fpreading poplars fhade the cottage door,
The villagers in ruftic joy convene.

Amid the fecret windings of the wood,
With folemn Meditation let me stray;
This is the hour when, to the wife and good,
The heavenly maid repays the toils of day.

The river murmurs, and the breathing gale
Whispers the gently waving boughs among :
The ftar of evening glimmers o'er the dale,
Aud leads the filent hoft of heaven along.

How bright emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,
The filver emprefs of the night appears!

Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,
And faintly in its breast the woodland bears.

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The waters rumbling o'er their rocky bed,

Solemn and conftant from the dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diftant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, skims the dusky ground.

Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,

The Gothic abbey rears its sculptur'd towers; Dull through the roots refound the whistling gale, Dark Solitude among the pillars lours.

Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves,
And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains,

Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window waves And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains.

There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,

Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd, Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken prayer.

High o'er the pines, that with their darkening fhade
Surround yon craggy bank, the castle rears

Its crumbling turrets: ftill its towery head
A warlike mein, of sullen grandeur wears.

So, midst the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war worn vet'ran's brow attends: Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Though trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends.

Wild round the gales the dusky wall-flowers creep,

Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led; Gone is the bower, the grot a ruin'd heap, Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread.

'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight,

Great in their bloody arms march'd o'er the lea,. Eying their refcu'd fields with proud delight!

Now loft to them! and ah! how chang'd to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my Pollio bring;

So fhone the moon through the foft nodding trees,.
When here we wander'd in the eves of fpring.

When April's fmiles the flowery lawn adorn,
And modeft cowflips deck the streamlets fide ;
When fragrant orchards to the roseat morn

Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dy'd.

So fair a bloffom, in gentle Pollio wore,

These were the emblems of his healthful mind!"
To him the letter'd page difplay'd its Tore,
To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd; -

Him, with her purest flames the Mufe endow'd,
Flames never to th* illiberal thought ally'd;
The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms: he faw, he felt, and ́dy'd..

Oh, partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Big with the scenes now paft, my heart o'er flows. Bids each endearment, fair as once to rife,

And dwells luxurious on her melting woes :

Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new,

Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee :: Oft by the moon have brufhed the evening dew, When all was fearless innocence and glee.

The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,
Has oft been confcious of thofe happy hours!
But now the hill, the river crown'd with pine,
And fainted well, have loft their chearing powers ;

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh, where,
Where haft thou fled, and left me here behind?
My tenderest wish; my heart to thee was bare,
Oh! now cut off each paffage to thy mind!

How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The tracklefs fhores that never were repafs'd;
Dread feparation on the depth untry'd
Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast ;

Wide round the fpacious heaven's I caft my eyes :
And shall these ftars glow with immortal fire!
Still fhine the lifeless glories of the skies!

And could thy bright, thy living foul expire?

Far be the thought! The pleasures most fublime, The glow of friendship and the virtuous tear, The towring with that fcorns the bounds of time, Chill'd in this vale of death, but languish here

So plant the vine on Norway's wint'ry land,
The languid ftranger feebly buds and dies:
Yet there's a clime where Virtue shall expand
With godlike ftrength beneath her native skies!

The lonely fhepherd on the mountain's fide,
With patience waits the rofy opening day;
The mariner at midnight's darkfome tide,
With cheerful hope expects the morning ray:

Thus I, on life's ftorm-beaten ocean tofs'd,
In mental vifion view the happy fhore,
Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast,

Where fate and death divide the friends no more!

Oh' that fome kind, fome pitying kindred fhade,
Who now, perhaps frequents this folemn grove,
Would tell the awful fecrets of the dead

And from my eyes the mortal film remove!

Vain is the wifh-yet furely not in vain

Man's bofom glows with that celestial fire, Which scorns earth's luxuries, which smiles at pain, And wings his fpirit with fublime defire!