Long and delightful was the dream,
A waking dream that Fancy yields,
Till with regret I left the stream

And plung'd across the barren fields;
To where of old rich abbeys smil'd
In all the pomp of gothic taste,
By fond tradition proudly styl'd,
The mighty" City in the East."

Near, on a slope of burning sand,

The shepherd boys had met to play, To hold the plains at their command, And mark the trav'ller's leafless way The trav'ller with a cheerful look

Would every pining thought forbear, If boughs but shelter'd Barnham brook He'd stop and leave his blessing there. The Danish mounds of partial green,

Still, as each mouldering tower decays, Far o'er the bleak unwooded scene Proclaim their wond'rous length of days. My burning feet, my aching sight,

Demanded rest,-why did I weep? The moon arose, and such a night! Good Heav'n! it was a sin to sleep. All rushing came thy hallow'd sighs, Sweet Melancholy, from my breast; "'Tis here that eastern greatness lies,

"That Might, Renown, and Wisdom rest! "Here funeral rites the priesthood gave "To chiefs who sway'd prodigious powers, "The Bigods and the Mowbrays brave, "From Framlingham's imperial towers. Full of the mighty deeds of yore,

I bade good night the trembling beam; Fancy e'en heard the battle's roar,

Of what but slaughter could I dream?

Bless'd be that night, that trembling beam,
Peaceful excursions Fancy made;
All night I heard the bubbling stream,
Yet Barnham Water wants a shade.

Whatever hurts my country's fame,
When wits and mountaineers deride,
To me grows serious, for I name

My native plains and streams with pride.
No mountain charms have I to sing,
No loftier minstrel's rights invade,
From trifles oft my raptures spring;

-Sweet Barnham Water wants a shade.

MARY'S EVENING SIGH.

How bright with pearl the western sky!
How glorious far and wide,
Yon lines of golden clouds that lie
So peaceful side by side!

Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light,

All eyes with rapture see;

E'en while I sigh I bless the sight

That lures my love from me.

Green hill, that shad'st the valley here,
Thou bear'st upon thy brow
The only wealth to Mary dear,

And all she'll ever know.
There, in the crimson light I see,
Above thy summit rise,

My Edward's form, he looks to me
A statue in the skies.

Descend my love, the hour is come,
Why linger on the hill?

The sun hath left my quiet home,
But thou canst see him still;
Yet why a lonely wanderer stray,
Alone the joy pursue?

The glories of the closing day

Can charm thy Mary too.

Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along
Beneath the waving corn,

And both confess'd the power of song,
And bless'd the dewy morn;

Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried, (My presence then could move) "How sweet, with Mary by my side,

"To gaze and talk of love!"

Thou art not false! that cannot be;

Yet my rivals deem

Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree,
The silence, and the stream;
Whate'er my love, detains thee now,
I'll yet forgive thy stay;

But with to-morrow's dawn come thou,
We'll brush the dews away.

GOOD TIDINGS;

OR,

NEWS FROM THE FARM.

How vain this tribute: vain, this lowly lay: Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires! The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves To virtue, to her country, to mankind!

Thomson.