THE Bat began with giddy wing

His circuit round the shed, the tree;
And clouds of dancing gnats to sing
A summer-night's serenity.

Darkness crept slowly o'er the East!

Upon the barn-roof watch'd the cat;
Sweet breath'd the ruminating beast
At rest where DOLLY musing sat.
A simple Maid, who could employ
The silent lapse of evening mild,
And lov'd its solitary joy:

For Dolly was Reflection's child.
He who had pledg'd his word to be
Her life's dear guardian, far away,
The flow'r of Yeoman Cavalry,

Bestrode a steed with trappings gay.
And thus from memory's treasur'd sweets,
And thus from love's pure fount she drew
That peace, which busy care defeats
And bids our pleasures bloom anew.
Six weeks of absence have I borne
Since HENRY took his fond farewell:
The charms of that delightful morn
My tongue could thus for ever tell

He at my window whistling loud,
Arous'd my lightsome heart to go:
Day, conqu'ring climb'd from cloud to cloud
The fields all wore a purple glow.

We stroll'd the bord'ring flow'rs among :
One hand the bridle held behind;
The other round my waist was flung :
Sure never Youth spoke half so kind!

The rising lark I could but hear;
And jocund seem'd the song to be:
But sweeter sounded in my ear,
Will Dolly still be true to me?

From the rude Dock my skirt had swept
A fringe of clinging burrs so green;
Like them our hearts still closer crept,
And hook'd a thousand holds unseen.

High o'er the road each branching bough
Its globes of silent dew had shed;
And on the pure-wash'd sand below
The dimpling drops around had spread.

The sweet-briar oped its pink-eyed rose,
And gave its fragrance to the gale;
Though modest flow'rs may sweets disclose,
More sweet was Henry's earnest tale.

He seem'd, methought, on that dear morn,
To pour out all his heart to me;
As if, the separation borne,

The coming hours would joyless be.

A bank rose high beside the way,
And full against the morning sun;
Of heav'nly blue there violets gay
His hand invited one by one.

The posey with a smile he gave;
I saw his meaning in his eyes
The wither'd treasure still I have;
My bosom holds the fragrant prize.

With his last kiss he would have vow'd; But blessings crowding forced their way: Then mounted he his courser proud;

His time elaps'd he could not stay.

Then first I felt the parting pang-
Sure the worst pang the lover feels!
His horse unruly from me sprang,

The pebbles flew beneath his heels;

Then down the road his vigour tried,
His rider gazing, gazing still;
My dearest, I'll be true,' he cried :-
And, if he lives, I'm sure he will.

Then haste, ye hours, haste, eve and morn,
Yet strew your blessings round my home:
Ere winter's blast shall strip the thorn
My promis'd joy, my love, will come.

290

LINES,

OCCASIONED BY

A VISIT TO WHITTLEBURY FOREST,

NORTHAMPTONSHIRE,

IN AUGUST, 1800.

Addressed to my Children.

GENIUS of the forest shades!

Lend thy pow'r, and lend thine ear!
A stranger trod thy lonely glades,
Amidst thy dark and bounding deer;
Inquiring childhood claims the verse,
Ô let them not inquire in vain ;
Be with me while I thus rehearse
The glories of thy sylvan reign.

Thy dells by wint'ry currents worn,
Secluded haunts, how dear to me!
From all but nature's converse borne,
No ear to hear, no eye to see.

Their honour'd leaves the green oaks rear'd,
And crown'd the upland's graceful swell;
While answering through the vale was heard
Each distant heifer's tinkling bell.

Hail, greenwood shades, that stretching far, Defy e'en summer's noontide pow'r,

When August in his burning car

Withholds the cloud, withholds the show'r.

The deep-ton'd low from either hill,
Down hazle aisles and arches green
(The herd's rude tracks from rill to rill);
Roar'd echoing through the solemn scene.
From my charm'd heart the numbers sprung,
Though birds had ceas'd the choral Ĵay :
I pour'd wild raptures from my tongue,
And gave delicious tears their way.
Then, darker shadows seeking still,

Where human foot had seldom stray'd,
I read aloud to every hill

Sweet Emma's love, the Nut-brown Maid.

Shaking his matted mane on high

The gazing colt would raise his head;
Or, tim❜rous doe would rushing fly,
And leave to me her grassy bed:
Where, as the azure sky appear'd

Through bow'rs of every varying form, 'Midst the deep gloom methought I heard The daring progress of the storm.

How would each sweeping pond'rous bough
Resist, when straight the whirlwind cleaves,
Dashing in strength'ning eddies through
A roaring wilderness of leaves!
How would the prone descending show'r
From the green canopy rebound!
How would the lowland torrents pour!
How deep the pealing thunder sound!
But peace was there: no lightnings blaz'd :-
No clouds obscur'd the face of Heav'n:
Down each green op'ning while I gaz'd
My thoughts to home, and you, were giv'n.
O tender minds! in life's gay morn

Some clouds must dim your coming day;
Yet, bootless pride and falsehood scorn,
And peace like this shall cheer your way.