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Wafted from the plain below;

| Meanwhile her dusk and slumbering car Or the heifer's frequent low;

Black-suited Night driver on from far, Or the milkmaid in the grove,

And Cynthia, 'inerging from her rear, Singing of one that died for love.

Arrests the waxing darkness drear, Or when the noontide-heats oppress, And summons to her silent call, We will seek the dark recess,,

Sweeping, in their airy pall, Where, in th'embower'd translucent stream, The unshrived ghosts, in fairy-trance, The cattle shun the sultry beam,

To join her moonshine morrice-dance; And o'er us on the marge reclined,

While around the mystic ring The drowsy fly her horn shall wind,

The shadowy shapes elastic spring, While Echo, from her ancient oak,

Then with a passing shriek they fiy Shall answer to the woodman's stroke; Wrapp'd in mists, along the sky, Or the little peasant's song,

And oft are by the shepherd seen, Wandering lone the glens among,

In his lone night-watch on the green. His artless lip with berries dyed, And feet through ragged shoes descried. Then, hermit, let us turn our feet.

To the low abbey's still retreat,

Embower'd in the distant glen, But oh! when evening's virgin queen Far from the haunts of busy mer Sits on her fringed throne serene,

Where, as we sit upon the tomb. And mingling whispers rising near

The glow-worm's light may gild the glove Still on the still reposing ear:

And show to Fancy's saddest eye, While distant brooks decaying round, Where some lost hero's ashes lie. Augment the mix'd dissolving sound, And oh, an through the mouldering arck. And the zephyr flitting by,

With ivy fillid and weeping larch, Whispers mystic harmony,

The night-gale whispers madly clear, We will seek the woody lane,

Speaking drear things to Fancy's ear, By the hamlet, on the plain,

We'll hold communion with the shade Where the weary rustic nigh,

Of some deep-wailing, ruin'd inaidShall whistle his wild melody;

Or call the ghost of Spenser down, And the croaking wicket oft

To tell of wo and Fortune's frown; Shall echo from the neighbouring croft; And bid us cast the eye of hope And as we trace the green path Tone, Beyond this bad world's narrow scope. With moss and rank weeds overgrown, Or, if these joys to us denied, We will muse on pensive lore

To linger by the forest's side; Till the full soul brimming o’er,

Or in the mendow, or the wood, Shall in our upturn'd eyes appear,

Or by the lone, romantic flood ; Embodied in a quivering tear.

Let us in the busy town, Or else, serenely silent, set

When sleep's dull streams the people drsku By the brawling rivulet,

| Far from drowsy pillows flee, Which on its calm unruffled brcast, | And turn the church's masky key; Bears the old mossy arch impressid, Then, as through the painted glass That clasps its secret stream of glass The moon's faint beams obscurely pasa Half hid in shrubs and waving grass, And darkly on the trophied wall, The wood-nymph's lone secure retreat, Her faint, ambiguous shadows fall; Unpress'd by fawn or sylvan's feet,

Let us, while the faint winds vail, We'll watch in eve's ethereal braid,

Through the long reluctant aisle The rich vermilion slowly fade;

As we pace with reverence meet. Or catch, faint twinkling from afar,

Count the echoings of our feet; The first glimpse of the eastern star, While from the tombs, with confers d breath Fair Vesper, mildest lamp of light,

Distinct responds the voice of death. That heralds in imperial night;

If thou, mild sage, wilt condescend, Meanwhile, upon our wandering ear, Thus on my footsteps to attend, Shall rise, though low, yet sweetly clear, To thee my lonely lamp shall bura The distant sounds of pastorał lute, By fallen Genius' sainted urn, Invoking soft the sober suit

As o'er the scroll of Time I pore, Of dimmest darkness-fitting well

And sagely spell of ancient lore, With love, or sorrow's pensive spell;. Till I can rightly guess of all (So erst did music's silver tone

That Plato could to memory call, Wake slumbering Chaos on his throne) | And scan the formless views of thinge, And haply then, with sudden swell,

Or, with old Egypt's fetter'd kings Shall roar the distant curfew-bell,

Arrange the mystic trains that shine While in the castle's mouldering tower, In night's high philosophic mine; The hooting owl is heard to pour

And to thy name shall e'er belong Hler melancholy song, and scare

The honours of undying sung. Pull Silence brooding in the air.

| The breathing forms of Parian stone, MRS. HEMANS.

That rise round grandeur's marble hallo,
The vivid hues by painting thrown

Rich o'er the glowing walls;
| Th' Acanthus, on Corinthian fanes,

In sculptured beanty waving fair;

These perish all--and what remains?

Thon, thou alone art there! On! how could Fancy crown with thee,

In ancient days, the god of wine, And bid thee at the banquet be

| 'Tis still the same-where'er we tread, Companion of the vine?

The wrecks of human power we see, Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound The marvels of all ages fled, Of revelry hath long been o’er,

Left to decay and thee! Where song's full notes once peal'd around, And still let man his fabrics rear, But now are heard no more.

Augurt in beauty, grace, and strength, Days pass-Thou, "Ivy never sere,"

And all is thine at length! The Roman, on his battle-plains,

Where kings before his eagles bent,
Entwined thee, with exulting strains,

Around the Victor's tent;
Yet there, though fresh in glossy green

Triamphally thy boughs might wave,
Better thou lov'st the silent scene,

Around the Victor's grave.


Where sleep the sons of ages flown,

The bards and heroes of the past Where, through the halls of glory gone,

Murmurs the wintry blast; Where years are bastening to efface

Each record of the grand and fair, Thou in thy solitary grace,

Wreath of the tomb! art there.

From mental mists to purge a nation's eyes;
To animate the weak, unite the wise ;
To trace the deep infection that pervades
The crowded town, and taints the rural

To mark how wide extends the mighty waste
O'er the fair realms of science, learning, tante;
To drive and scatter all the brood of lies,
And chase the varying falsehood as it flies ;
The Jong arrears of ridicule to pay,
| To drag reluctant Dulness back to day;
Much yet remains.-To you these themes

Ye favour'd sons of virtue and of song!

Thoa, o'er the shrines of fallen gods,

On classic plains dost mantling spread, And veil the desolate abodes,

And cities of the dead. Deserted palaces of kings,

Arches of triumph, long o'erthrown, And all once glorious earthly things,

At length are thine alone.

Say, is the field too narrow? Are the times Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes ?

Yet, venial vices, in a milder age, Oh! many a temple, once sublime,

Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage: Beneath the blue Italian sky,

The doating miser, and the lavish heir, Hath nought of beauty left by time,

The follies and the foibles of the fair, Save thy wild tapestry:

Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and oh Euclio's thrift, And, rear'd 'midst crags and clouds, 'tis thine And Sappho's diamonds with her dirty shift,

To ware where bannery waved of yore, Blunt, Charters, Hopkins.-- Jeaner subjects O'er mouldering towers, by lovely Rhine,

fired Cresting the rocky shore.

The keen-eyed poet; while the Muse inspired
Her ardent child, --entwining, as he sate,

His laurelled chaplet with the thorns of hate.
High from the fields of air look down
Those eyries of a vanish'd race,

But say,-indignant does the Mune retire, Homes of the mighty, whose renown Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire ? Hath pass'd, and left no trace.

No pions hand to feed the sacred flame, Bat thou art there, thy foliage bright No raptured soul a poet's charge to claim ?

Unchanged the mountain-storm can brare; Thon that wilt climb the loftiemt heighi, Bethink thee, Gifford; when some future age And deck the humblest grave.

Shall trace the promise of thy playful page; -

The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools |'Gainst learning's, virtue's, truth's, religion' away

foes, Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose

prey! Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse If vice appal thee; if thod view with axe The tame seccssion of thy languid muse? Insults that brave, and crimes that 'scape

the law;Ah! where is now that promise? why so Yet may the specious bastard brood, which long

claim Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song? A spurious homage under virtue's name, Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy side, Sprung from that parent of ten thousand With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride;

crimes, With keen poetic glance direct the blow, The new philosophy of modern times, And empty all thy quiver on the foe: Yet these may rouse thee!- With unsparing No pause-no rest-.'till weltering on the

hand ground

Oh lash the vile impostures from the land! The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with

many a wound. First, stern Philanthropy :—not sbe whe

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Thou, too!—the nameless bard,, whose The orphan's tears, and wipes the widowi honest zeal

eyes; For law, for morals, for the public weal, Not she, who, sainted Charity her guide, Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes Of British bounty pours the annual tide:The stream of verse, and many-languaged But French Philanthropy ;-whose boundprose;

less mind Thou, too! though oft thy ill-advised dislike Glows with the general love of all mankind: The guiltless head with random censure Philanthropy,-beneath whose baneful svar


Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined, Taught in her school t' imbibe the mawkish Play faintly, round the ear, but mock the

strain, mind;

Condorcet filter'd through the dregs of Paine. Through the mix'd mass yet truth and learn. Each pert adept disowns a Briton's part.

ing shine,

And plucks the name of England from his And manly vigour stamps the nervous line:

heart. And patriot warmth the generous rage

What! shall a name, a word, a sound And wakes and points the debultory fires !


Th’aspiring thought, and cramp th' expanYet more remain unknown: for who can tell

sive soul? What bashful genius, in some rural cell, Shall one half-peopled island's rocky round As year to year, and day succeeds to day, A love that glows for all creation bound ! In joyless leisure wastes his life away? And social charities contract the plan In him the flame of early fancy shone; Framed for thy freedomn, universal map? His genuine worth his old companions own; No-through th' extended globe his fel In childhood and in youth their chief con

ings run, fess'd,

As broad and general as th' anbounded sus' His master's pride, his pattern to the rest. No narrow bigot he; his reason'd view Now, far aloof retiring from the strife Thy interests, England, ranks with thiar, Of busy talents, and of active life,

Peru! As, from the loop-holes of retreat, he views France at our doors, he secs no danger nigh, Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and But heaves for Turkey's woes th' impartial new,

sigh; He loathes the world, -or with reflection sad A steady patriot of the world alone, Concludes it irrecoverably mad;

The friend of every country--but his own Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft, No hope, no prospect to redeem it left. Next comes a gentler virtue. Ah! bewam

Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softsen Awake! for shame! or ere thy nobler sense

scare. Sink in th' oblivious pool of indolence! Visit her not too roughly ;-the warm sich Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side, Breathes on her lips ;-the tear-drop gem Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied ?

her eye. Arise! por scorn thy country's just alarms; Sweet Sensibility, who dwelle ensbriand Wield in her causc thy long-neglected arms: In the fine foldings of the feeling mind: Of lofty satire pour th' indignant strain With delicate mimosa's sense endaed. Leagued with her friends, and ardent to Who shrinks instinctive from a hand t** maintain


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Or like the anagallis, prescient flower, Justice, whose blood-stain'd book one sole Shuts her soft petals at th' approaching

decree, shower."

One statute fills—“The people shall be free."

Free by what means? by folly, madness,guilt; Sweet child of sickly Fancy! Her of yore By boundless rapine, blood in oceans spilt; From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore; By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils And, while 'midst lakes and mountains wild The poor man's pittance with the rich man's he ran,

spoils, Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of Mix'd in one common mass, are swept away,


| To glut the short-lived tyrant of the day ;Taught her o'er each lonc vale and Alpine By laws, religion, morals all o’erthrown:

-Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep;

your own; Taught her to cherish still, in either eye, The license that enthrals, the truth that Of tender tears a plentiful supply,

blinds, And pour them in the brooks that babbled by; The wealth that starves you, and the power Taught by nice scale to mete her feelings

that grinds. strong,

-So Justice bids.- 'Twas her enlighten'd False by degrees, and exquisitely wrong;

doom, For the crush'd beetle, first, the widow'd dove, Louis, thy holy head devoted to the tomb ! And all the warbled sorrows of the grove; 'Twas Justice claim'd, in that accursed hour, Next for poor suffering guilt; and, last of all, The fatal forfeit of too lenient power. For parents, friends, a king and country's fall. -Mourn for the man we may ;- but for the

king, Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, Free

ief Freedom, oh! Freedom's such a charming With cureless pangs, and woes that mock

thing! relief, Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower;

“Much may be said on both sides.”—Ilark! O'er a dend jack-ass pour the pearly shower:

I hear But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined

A well-known voice that murmurs in my flood,

car, Choakd up with slain; of Lyons drenchid | The voice of Candour.- Hail! most solemn

sage, Of crimes that blot the age, the world, with I Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age.

Candour, which softens party's headlong rage; Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's

Candour,-- which spares its foes;-nor e'er

descends name;

With bigot zeal to combat for its friends. Altars and thrones subverted, social life

Candour, - which loves in see-saw strain to Trampled to earth;- the husband from the

tell wife, Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn;

of acting foolishly, but meaning well; of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn,

Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame, In friendless exile;-of the wise and good

Convinced that all men's motives are the Staining the daily scaffold with their blood;


And finds, with keen discriminating sight, Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind,

Black's not so black;- nor white 80 very The rage of madness with hell's lusts combined

white. Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled

"Fox, to be sure, was vehement and wrong:-breast,

But then Pitt's words, you'll own, were rather They hear--and hope that all is for the best.


Both must be blamned, both pardon d ;-'t Fond hope! but Justice sanctifics the

was just so prayer

With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago; Justice !-Here, Satire, strike; 't were sin So Walpole, Pulteney ;-factions in all times

to spare!

Have had their follies,ministers their crimes." Not she in British courts that takes her stand, Give me th' avow'd, the erect, the manly foc, The dawdling balance dangling in her hand, Bold I can meet,-perhaps may turn his blow; Adjusting punishments to frand and vice, But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath With scrupulous quirks and disquisition nice:

can send, But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance, Save, save, oh! save me from the candid Th' avenging angel of regenerate France,

friend! Who visits ancient sins of modern times, Barras loves plunder, - Merlin takes a And punishes the Pope for Cacsar's crimes.

bribe, Such is the liberal Justice which presiden What then?-Shall Candour these good men In these our days,and modern patriots guides;


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No! ere we join the loud-accusing throng, But to thy worthies render homage due. Prore, - not the facts, — but, that they Their-hair-breadth 'scapes" with ansije thought them wrong.

interest view; Why hang O'Quigley? - he, misguided man, Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores, In sober thought his country's weal might Though plainer times would call them rogues

and whores. And, while his deep-wrought treason sapped the throne,

See Louvet, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage, Might act from taste in morals, all his own." Tempering with amorous fire his virtuou


Formid for all tasks, his various talents see. Peace to such reasoners !- let them have The lascious novel, the severe decree. their way;

1 - Then mark him weltering in his pasty stye. Shut their dulleyes against the blaze of day.- Bare his lewd transports to the public err Priestley's a saint, and Stone a patriot still; Not bis the love in silent groves that stravu And La Fayette a hero, if they will. Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar I love the bold uncompromising mind,

gaze. Whose principles are fix'd, whose views In Lodoiska's full possession blest. defined:

One craving void still aches within his Who scouts and scorns, in canting Candour's


Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms, All taste in morals, innate sense of right, Not to himself alone he stints her charms; And nature's impulse, all uncheck'd by art, Clasp'd in each other's foul embrace they lir, And feelings fine, that float about the heart: But know no joy, unless the world stands by Content, for good men's guidance, bad men's - The fool of vanity, for her alone awe,

He lives, loves, writes, and dies, but to be On moral trnth to rest, and gospel-law.

known. Wbo owns, when traitors feel th' avenging rod,

His widow'd moarner flies to poison's aid, Just retribution, and the hand of God; Eager to join her Lou vet's parted shade Who bears the groans through Olinutz' In those bright realms where sainted loven roofs that ring,

stray,Of him who mock'd, misled, betray'd his But harsh emetics tear that hope away.

-Yet, hapless Louvet! where thy bones are Hears unappallid :-though faction's zealots

laid, preach

The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade; Unmoved, unsoften'd by Fitzpatrick's speech. There, in the laughing morn of genial Spring, That speech on which the melting commons Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets singi hung,

Eringoes o'er the hallow'd spot shall bloom, “While truths divine came mended from his And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb tongue"

But hold ! severer virtue claims the Muse How loving husband clings to duteous wife,- Roland the just, with ribands in his short How pure religion soothes the illk of life, And Roland's spouse, who paints with chaste How popish ladies trust their pious fears

delight And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears. The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night:Half novel and half sermon, on it flow'd; Her virgin charins what fierce attacks With pious zeal the Opposition glow'd;

arxail'd, And as o'er each the soft infection crept, And how the rigid minister prevail d. Sigh'd as he whined, and as he whimperd wept ;

And ah! what verse can grace thy stately E'en Curwen dropt a sentimental tear,

mien, And stout St. Andrew yelp'd a softer “hear!” Guide of the world, Preferment's golden

queen, Necker's fair daughter, -Stael the epierar' Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and purple

nose O! nurse of crimes and fashions! which in the bloom of young desire unceasing glown'

Fain would the Muse-but ah! she dares 18 Our colder servile spirits would attain,

more; How do we ape thee, France! but blundering A mournful voice from lone Guyana's short

--Sad Quatremere-the bold presumption Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill.

checks, The borrow'd step our awkward gait reveals : Forbid to question thy ambiguous sct. (As clumsyCourtney mars the verse he steals) To thee proud Barras bows;-thy charms How do we ape thee, France Spor claim alone

control Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals for our own, Rewbell's brute rage and Merlin's subtlemek

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