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But soon as dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,

He feels his back the less;
His honeft tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want success.

With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a dauncing as he walks,

His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

Without a bunch behind.

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As there he bides, it fo befell,
The wind came rustling down a dell,

A shaking seiz’d the wall :
Up sprung the tapers as before,
The fairies bragly foot the floor,

And music fills the hall,

But

But certes forely funk with woe
Sir Topaz fees the Elphin show,

His spirits in him dy :
When Oberon

crys,

a man is near, “ A mortal passion, cleeped fear,

Hangs flagging in the sky."

With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth !
In accents falt'ring, ay for ruth,

Intreats them pity graunt;
For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wand'ring in the night

To tread the circled haunt;

« Ah Losell vile, at once they roar ; " And little kill's of fairie lore,

“ Thy cause to come, we know : « Now has thy kestrell courage

fell; re And fairies, since a lye you tell

« Are free to work thee woe.”

Then Will, who bears the wispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire,

The captive upward flung ;
There like a tortoise in a shop
He dangled from the chamber-top,

Where whilome Edwin hung.

The

The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,

They fit, they drink, and eat ;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while

'Till all the rout retreat.

By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,

And down ydrops the knight,
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade,

Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
'Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er :
But wot ye well his harder lot ?
His feely back the bunch had got

Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-nurse ared ;
She softly stroak’d my youngling head,

And when the tale was done, “ Thus some are born, my son, she cries, With base impediments to rise,

“ And some are born with none.

" But virtue can itself advance
" To what the fav’rite fools of chance

By fortune seem'd defign'd:
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
“ And from itself shake off the weight

“ Upon th' unworthy mind."

A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH,

By the Same.

B

Y the blue taper's trembling light,

No more I waste the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The schoolmen and the fages o’er:
Their books from wisdom widely stray,
Or point at best the longest way.
I'll seek a readier path, and go
Where wisdom's surely taught below.
How deep yon azure dies the sky !
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lye,
While thro’ their ranks in silver pride
The nether crescent seems to glide.
The slumb’ring breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled show
Descends to meet our eyes below.

The

The grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the view retire :
The left presents a place of graves,
Whose wall the filent water laves.
That steeple guides thy doubtful sight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pass with melancholy state,
By all the folemn heaps of fate;
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,
Time was, like thee they life pofseft,
And time shall be, that thou Malt rest.

Those graves, with bending osier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought disclose,
Where toil and poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name,
The chiffel's slender help to fame,
(Which ere our set of friends decay
Their frequent steps may wear away ;)
A midile race of mortals own,
Men, half anbitious, all unknown.
The marble tombs that rise on high,
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
These, all the poor remains of state,
Adora the rich, or praise the great ;

G

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