'Twas here one noon, the gaudiest of the May,
The still, the secret, silent, hour of day,
Beneath a lofty tulip's ample shade

Sat the young lover and th' immortal maid.
They thought all fairies slept, ah, luckless pair!
Hid, but in vain, in the Sun's noon-tide glare!
When Albion, leaning on his Kenna's breast,
Thus all the softness of his soul exprest :

"All things are hush'd. The Sun's meridian rays Veil the horizon in one mighty blaze:

Nor moon nor star in Heaven's blue arch is seen
With kindly rays to silver o'er the green,
Grateful to fairy eyes; they secret take
Their rest, and only wretched mortals wake.
This dead of day I fly to thee alone,
A world to me, a multitude in one.

Oh, sweet as dew-drops on these flowery lawns,
When the sky opens, and the evening dawns!
Straight as the pink, that towers so high in air,
Soft as the blow-bell! as the daisy, fair!
Elest be the hour, when first I was convey'd
An infant captive to this blissful shade!
And blest the haud that did my form refine,
And shrunk my stature to a match with thine!
Glad I for thee renounce my royal birth,
And all the giant daughters of the Earth.
Thou, if thy breast with equal ardour burn,
Renounce thy kind, and love for love return.
So from us two, combin'd by nuptial ties,
A race unknown of demi gods shall rise.

O speak, my love! my vows with vows repay,
And sweetly swear my rising fears away."

To whom (the shining azure of her eyes More brighten'd) thus th' enamour'd maid replies: By all the stars, and first the glorious Moon, I swear, and by the head of Oberon, A dreadful oath! no prince of fairy line Shall e'er in wedlock plight his vows with mine. Where-e'er my footsteps in the dance are seen, May toadstools rise, and mildews blast the green, May the keen east-wind blight my favorite flowers, And snakes and spotted adders Launt my bowers. Confin'd whole ages in an hemlock shade There rather pine I a neglected maid, Or worse, exil'd from Cynthia's gentle rays, Parch in the sun a thousand summer-days, Than any prince, a prince of fairy Ime, In sacred wedlock plight his vows with mine." She ended and with lips of rosy hue Dipp'd five times over in ambrosial dew, Stifled his words. When, from his covert rear'd, The frowning brow of Oberon appear'd. A sun-flower's trunk was near, whence (killing The monarch issued, half an ell in height: Full on the pair a furious look he cast, Nor spoke; but gave his bugle-horn a blast, That through the woodland echoed far and wide, And drew a swarm of subjects to his side. A hundred chosen knights, in war renown'd, Drive Albion banish'd from the sacred ground; And twice ten myriads guard the bright abodes, Where the proud king, amidst his demi-gods, For Kenna's sudden bridal bids prepare, And to Azurel gives the weeping fair.

[sight!)

If fame in arms, with ancient birth combin'd, A faultless beauty, and a spotless mind, To love and praise can generous souls incline, That love, Azuriel, and that praise, was thine.

Blood only less than royal fill'd thy veins,
Proud was thy roof, and large thy fair domains.
Where now the skies high Holland-House invades
And short-liv'd Warwick sadden'd all the shades,
Thy dwelling stood: nor did in him afford

A nobler owner, or a lovelier lord.

For thee a hundred fields produc'd their store,
And by thy name ten thousand vassals swore;
So lov'd thy name, that, at their monarch's choice,
All fairy shouted with a general voice.

Oriel alone a secret rage supprest,
That from his bosom heav'd the golden vest.
Along the banks of Thame his empire ran,
Wide was his range, and populous his clan.
When cleanly servants, if we trust old tales,
Beside their wages had good fairy vails,
Whole heaps of silver tokens, nightly paid,
The careful wife, or the neat dairy-maid,
Sunk not his stores. With smiles and powerful bribes
He gain'd the leaders of his neighbour tribes,
And ere the night the face of Heaven had chang'd,
Beneath his banners half the fairies rang d.

Meanwhile, driven back to Farth, a lonely way The chearless Albion wander'd half the day, [thorns A long, long journey, choak'd with brakes and Ill-measur'd by ten thousand barley-corns. Tir'd out at length a spreading stream he spy'd Fed by old Thame, a daughter of the tide: [fame 'Twas then a spreading stream, though now, its Obscur'd, it bears the Creek s inglorious name, And creeps, as through contracted bounds it strays, A leap for boys in these degenerate days.

On the clear crystal's verdant bank he stood, And thrice look'd backward on the fatal wood, And thrice he groan'd, and thrice he beat his breast, And thus in tears his kindred gods addrest.

If true, ye watery powers, my lineage came From Neptune mingling with a mortal dame; Down to his court, with coral garlands crown'd, Through all your grottoes waft my plaintive sound, And urge the god, whose trident shakes the Earth, To grace his offspring, and assert my birth."

He said. A gentle Naiad heard his prayer, And, touch'd with pity for a lover's care, Shoots to the sea, where low beneath the tides Old Neptune in th' unfathom'd deep resides. Rouz'd at the news, the sea's stern sultan swore Revenge, and scarce from present arms forbore ; But first the nymph his harbinger he sends, And to her care the favourite boy commends.

As thro' the Thames her backward course she Driv'n up his current by the refluent tides, [guides, Along his banks the pygmy legions spread She spies, and haughty Oriel at their head, Soon with wrong'd Albion's name the host she fires, And counts the ocean's god, among his sires; "The ocean's god, by whom shall be o'erthrown, (Styx heard his oath) the tyrant Oberon, Sechere beneath a toadstool's deadly gloom Lies Albion: him the Fates your leader doom. Her, and obey; 'tis Neptune's powerful call, By bm Azuriel and his king shall fall."

She said. They bow'd: and on their shields up-bore With shouts their new saluted emperor. D'en Oriel smild: at least to smile he strove, And hopes of vengeance triumph'd over love.

See now the mourner of the lonely shade By gods protected, and by hosts obey'd,

Now, where his elves so sprightly danc'd the round,
No violet breathes, nor daisy paints the ground,
His towers and people till one common grave,
A shapeless ruin, and a barren cave.

Teneath huge hills of smoking piles he lay
Stunn'd and confounded a whole summer's day,
At length awak'd (for what can long restrain
Unbody'd spirits!) but awak'd in pain :
And as he saw the desolated wood,
And the dark den where once his empire stood,
Grief chill'd his heart: to his half-open'd eyes
In every oak a Neptune seem'd to rise:
He fled and left, with all his trembling peers,
The long possession of a thousand years.
Through bush, through brake, through groves, and
gloomy dales,
[vales,
Through dank and dry, o'er streams and flowery
Direct they fled; but often look'd behind,
And stopt and started at each rustling wind.
Wing'd with like fear, his abdicated bands
Disperse and wander into different lands.
Part hid beneath the Peak's deep caverns lie,
In silent glooms, impervious to the sky;
Part on fair Avon's margin seek repose,
Whose stream o'er Britain's midmost region flows,
Where formidable Neptune never came,
And seas and oceans are but known by fame :
Some to dark woods and secret shade retreat:
And some on mountains choose their airy seat.
There haply by the ruddy damsel seen,
Or shepherd-boy, they featly foot the green,
While from their steps a circling verdure springs;
But fly from towns, and dread the courts of kings.
Mean-while said Kenna, loth to quit the grove,
Hung o'er the body of her breathless love,
Try'd every art, (vain arts!) to change his doom,
And vowed (vain vows!) to join him in the tomb.
What could she do? the Fates alike deny
The dead to live, or fairy forms to die.

An herb there grows (the same old Homer
Ulysses bore to rival Circe's spells)
Its root is ebon-black, but sends to light
A stem that bends with flowrets milky white,
Moly the plant, which gods and fairies know,
But secret kept from mortal mea below.
On his pale limbs its virtuous juice she shed,
And marmur'd mystic numbers o'er the dead,
When lo! the little shape by magic power
Grew less and less, contracted to a flower;
A flower, that first in this sweet garden smil'd,
To virgins sacred, and the Snow-drop styl'd.

| Till great Nassau recloath'd the desert shade, Thence sacred to Pritannia's monarchs made.

'Twas then the green-rob'd nymph, fair Kenna,

came,

(Kenna that gave the neighbouring town its name.)
Proud when she saw th' ennobled garden shine,
With nymphs and heroes of her lover's line,
She vow'd to grace the mansions once her own.
And picture out in plants the fairy town.
To far-fam'd Wise her flight unseen she sped,
And with gay prospects fill'd the craftsman's head,
Soft in his fancy drew a pleasing scheme,
And plann'd that landscape in a morning dream.

With the sweet view the sire of gardens fir'd,
Attempts the labour by the nymph inspir'd,
The walls and streets in rows of yew designs,
And forms the town in all its ancient lines;
The corner trees he lifts more high in air,
And girds the palace with a verdant square;
Nor knows, while round he views the rising scenes,
He builds a city as he plants his greens.

With a sad pleasure the aërial maid This image of her ancient realms survey'd, How chang'd, how fall'n from its primeval pride! Yet here each moon, the hour her lover dy'd, Each moon his solemn obsequies she pays And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthia's rays; Pleas'd in these shades to head her fairy train, And grace the groves where Albion's kinsmen reign.

ΤΟ

The new-born plant with sweet regret she view'd,
Warm'd with her sighs, and with her tears bedew'd,
Its ripen'd seeds from bank to bank convey'd,
And with her lover whiten'd half the shade.
Thus won from death each spring she sees him grow,
And glorious in the vegetable snow,
Which now increas'd through wide Britannia's plains,
Its parent's warmth and spotless name retains,
First leader of the flowery race aspires,
And foremost catches the Sun's genial fires,
'Mid frosts and snows triumphant dares appear,
Mingles the seasons, and leads on the year.
Deserted now of all the pigmy race,

Nor man nor fairy touch'd this guilty place.
In heaps on heaps, for many a rolling age,
It lay accurs'd, the mark of Neptune's rage,

O! listen while thy summers are my theme,
Ah! sooth thy partner in his waking dream!
In some small hamlet n the lonely plain, [train;
Where Thames, through meadows, rolls his mazy
Or where high Windsor, thick with greens array'd,
Waves his old oaks, and spreads his ample shade,
Fancy has figur'd out our calm retreat;
Already round the visionary seat

Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to spring,
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing.
Where dost thou lie, thou thinly-peopled green?
Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen?
Where sons, contented with their native ground,
Ne'er travell'd further than ten furlongs round;
And the tann'd peasant, and his ruddy bride,
Were born together, and together died.
Where early larks best tell the morning light,
And only Philomel disturbs the night,
'Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise,
With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dies;
All savage where th' embroider'd gardens end,
The haunt of echoes, shall my woods ascend;
And oh! if Heaven th' ambitious thought approve,
A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove,
A little rill, o'er pebbly beds convey'd,
Gush down the steep, and glitter through the glade.
What chearing scents those bordering banks exhale!
How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale!

That thrush how shrill! his note so clear, so high,
He drowns each feather'd minstrel of the sky.
Here let me trace beneath the purpled morn,
The deep-mouth'd beagle, and the sprightly horn;
Or lure the trout with well dissembled flies,
Or fetch the fluttering partridge from the skies.
Nor shall thy hand disdain to crop the vine,
The downy peach, or flavour'd nectarine;
Or rob the bee-hive of its golden hoard,
And bear th' unbought luxuriance to thy board.
Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours,
While from thy needle rise the silken flowers,
And thou, by turns, to ease my feeble sight,
Resume the volume, and deceive the night.
Oh! when I mark thy twinkling eyes opprest,
Soft whispering, let me warn my love to rest;
Then watch thee, charm'd, while sleep locks every
sense,

And to sweet Heaven commend thy innocence.
Thus reign'd our fathers o'er the rural fold,
Wise, hale, and honest in the days of old;

Till courts arose, where substance pays for show,
And specious joys are bought with real woe.
See Flavia's pendants, large, well-spread, and right,
The ear that wears them hears a fool each night:
Mark how the embroider'd colonel sneaks away,
To shun the withering dame that made him gay;
That knave, to gain a title, lost his fame;
That rais'd his credit by a daughter's shame;
This coxcomb's ribband cost him half his land,
And oaks, unnumber'd, bought that fool a wand.
Fond man, as all his sorrows were too few,
Acquires strange wants that nature never knew,
By midnight lamps he emulates the day,
And sleeps, perverse, the chearful suns away;
From goblets high-embost, his wine must glide,
Round his clos'd sight the gorgeous curtain slide;
Fruits ere their time to grace his pomp must rise,
And three untasted courses glut his eyes.
For this are nature's gentle calls withstood,
The voice of conscience, and the bonds of blood;
This wisdom thy reward for every pain,
And this gay glory all thy mighty gain.
Fair phantoms woo'd and scorn'd from age to age,
Since bards began to laugh, and priests to rage.
And yet, just curse on man's aspiring kind,
Prone to ambition, to example blind,
Our children's children shall our steps pursue,
And the same errours be for ever new.
Mean while in hope a guiltless country swain,
My reed with warblings chears the imagin'd plain.
Hail humble shades, where truth and silence dwell!
The noisy town and faithless court farewell!
Farewell ambition, once my darling flame!
The thirst of lucre, and the charm of fame!
In life's by-road, that winds through paths unknown,
My days, though number'd, shall be all my own.
Here shall they end, (O! might they twice begin)
And all be white the Fates intend to spin.

A POEM IN PRAISE OF

THE HORN-BOOK.

WRITTEN UNDER A FIT OF THE GOUT.

Magni magna patrant, nos non nisi ludicra,
.......Podagra hæc otia fecit,
HAIL! ancient Book, most venerable code !
Learning's first cradle, and its last abode !
VOL. XI.

The huge unnumber'd volumes which we see,
By lazy plagiaries are stol'n from thee.
Yet future times, to thy sufficient store,
Shall ne'er presume to add one letter more.

Thee will I sing, in comely wainscot bound,
And golden verge enclosing thee around;
The faithful horn before, from age to age,
Preserving thy invaluable page;

Behind, thy patron saint in armour shines,
With sword and lance, to guard thy sacred lines:
Beneath his courser's feet the dragon lies
Transfix'd; his blood thy scarlet cover dies;
Th' instructive handle 's at the bottom fix'd,
Lest wrangling critics should pervert the text.
Or if to ginger-bread thou shalt descend,
And liquorish learning to thy babes extend;
Or sugar'd plane, o'erspread with beaten gold,
Does the sweet treasure of thy letters hold;
Thou still shalt be my song— -Apollo's choir
I scorn t' invoke; Cadmus my verse inspire:
'Twas Cadmus who the first materials brought
Of all the learning which has since been taught,
Soon made compleat! for mortals ne'er shall know
More than contain'd of old the Christ-cross row;
What masters dictate, or what doctors preach,
Wise matrons hence, e'en to our children teach:
But as the name of every plant and flower
(So common that each peasant knows its power)
Physicians in mysterious cant express,
T'amuse the patient, and enhance their fees;
So from the letters of our native tongue,
Put in Greek scrawls, a mystery too is sprung,
Schools are erected, puzzling grammars made,
And artful men strike out a gainful trade;
Strange characters adorn the learned gate,
And heedless youth catch at the shining bait;
The pregnant boys the noisy charms declare,
And Tau's, and Delta's 1, make their mothers stare;
Th' uncommon sounds amaze the vulgar ear,
And what 's uncommon never costs too dear.
Yet in all tongues the Horn-book is the same,
Taught by the Grecian master, or the English dame.
But how shall I thy endless virtues tell,

In which thou durst all other books excell?
No greasy thumbs thy spotless leaf can soil,
Nor crooked dogs-ears thy smooth corners spoil;
In idle pages no errata stand,

To tell the blunders of the printer's hand:
No fulsome dedication here is writ,

Nor flattering verse, to praise the author's wit:
The margin with no tedious notes is vex'd,
Nor various reading to confound the text:
All parties in thy literal sense agree,
Thou perfect centre of concordancy!
Search we the records of an ancient date,
Or read what modern histories relate,
They all proclaim what wonders have been done
By the plain letters taken as they run :

Too high the floods of passion us'd to roll,
And rend the Roman youth's impatient soul;
His hasty anger furnish'd scenes of blood,
And frequent deaths of worthy men ensued:
In vain were all the weaker methods try'd,
None could suffice to stem the furious tide,
Thy sacred line he did but once repeat,
And laid the storm, and cool'd the raging heat 2,"