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Alas! to mend the breaches wide

He made for these poor ninnies, They all must work, whate'er betide, Both days and months, and pay beside (Sad news for Avarice and for Pride)

A sight of golden guineas.

presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old-fashioned love and five years ago, I own I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas ! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelly itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now even a simple story,wholly uninspired with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of revolutions, as to those who have remained a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinct ly audible.

S. T. C Dec. 21, 1799.

But here once more to view did pop

The man that kept his senses.
And now he cried—“Stop, neighbors! stop!
The Ox is mad! I would not swop,
No, not a school-boy's farthing top

For all the parish fences.

O LEAVE the lily on its stem;

O leave the rose upon the spray;
O leave the elder bloom, fair maids!

And listen to my lay.

* The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!

What means this coward fuss ?
Ho! stretch this rope across the plat-
"T will trip him up or if not that,
Why, damme! we must lay him flat

See, here's my blunderbuss !”

A cypress and a myrtle-bough

This morn around my harp you twined Because it fashion'd mournfully

Its murmurs in the wind.

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She listen'd with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest graco , For well she knew, I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.

INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE

DARK LADIE. The following Poem is intended as the introduction to a somewhat longer one. The use of the old Ballad word Ladie for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is profexsedly a tale of ancient times, I trust that the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it A heavier objection may be adduced against the author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties explode around us in all directions, he should

I told her of the Knight that wore

Upon his shield a burning brand;
And how for ten long years he woo'd
The Ladie of the Land :

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And hopes and fears that kindle hope,

An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherish'd long !

She wept with pity and delight,

She blush'd with love and maiden-shame; And, like the murmurs of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,

Onward to the moon it pass'd;
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colors not a few,

Till it reach'd the moon at last :
Then the cloud was wholly bright
With a rich and amber light!
And so with many a hope I seek

And with such joy I find my Lewti : And even so my pale wan cheek

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.

saw her bosom heave and swell,

Heave and swell with inward sighsI could not choose but love to see

Her gentle bosom rise.

The little cloud-it floats away,

Away it goes; away so soon?
Alas! it has no power to stay :
Its hues are dim, its hues are gray-

Away it passes from the moon!
How mournfully it seems to fly,

Ever fading more and more, To joyless regions of the sky

And now 't is whiter than before !
As white as my poor cheek will be,

When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind
And yet thou didst not look unkind.

O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Crushing the purple whorts; while oft unseen,
Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves,
The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil,

I know not, ask not whither! A new joy,
Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust,
And gladsome as the first-born of the spring,
Beckons me on, or follows from behind,
Playmate, or guide! The master-passion quell’d,
I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark
The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak,
Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake
Soar up, and form a melancholy vault
High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea.

.

I saw a vapor in the sky,

Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse, Thin, and white, and very high;

Here too the lovelorn man who, sick in soul, I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud :

And of this busy human heart aweary, Perhaps the breezes that can fly

Worships the spirit of unconscious life Now below and now above,

In tree or wild-flower.-Gentle Lunatic! Have snatch'd aloft the wny shroud

If so he might not wholly cease to be, Of Lady fair—that died for love.

He would far rather not be that, he is ; For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd

But would be something, that he knows not of,
From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd.

In winds or waters, or among the rocks!
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind
For Lewti never will be kind.

But hence, fond wretch ! breathe not contagior. Hush! my heedless feet from under

here! Slip the crumbling banks for ever:

No myrtle-walks are these : these are no groves Like echoes to a distant thunder,

Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood They plunge into the gentle river.

He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore The river-swans have heard my tread,

His dainty feet, the brier and the thorn And startle from their reedy bed.

Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird O beauteous Birds! methinks ye measure Easily caught, ensnare him, Oye Nymphs, Your movements to some heavenly tune!

Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades ! O beauteous Birds! 't is such a pleasure And you, ye Earth-winds ! you that make at morn To see you move beneath the moon,

The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! I would it were your true delight

You, O ye wingless Airs ! that creep between To sleep by day and wake all night.

The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze,

Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon, I know the place where Lewti lies,

The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bedWhen silent night has closed her eyes :

Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, It is a breezy jasmine-bower,

Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb. The nightingale sings o'er her head :

Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes ! Voice of the Night! had I the power

With prickles sharper than his darts bemock That leafy labyrinth to thread,

His little Godship, making him perforce
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread, Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back
I then might view her bosom white
Heaving lovely to my sight,

This is my hour of triumph! I can now
As these two swans together heave
On the gently swelling wave.

With my own fancies play the merry fool,

And laugh away worse folly, being free. Oh! that she saw me in a dream,

Here will I seat myself, beside this old,

Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine
And dreamt that I had died for care ;
All pale and wasted I would seem,

Clothes as with net-work : here will I couch my

limbs, Yet fair withal, as spirits are ! I'd die indeed, if I might see

Close by this river, in this silent shade,

As safe and sacred from the step of man
Her bosom heave, and heave for me!

As an invisible world—unheard, unseen,
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!
Tomorrow Lewti may be kind.

And list'ning only to the pebbly brook

That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound
1795.

Or to the bees, that in the neighboring trunk
Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits mo

Was never Love's accomplice, never raised

The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, TILE PICTURE, OR THE LOVER'S And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek; RESOLUTION.

Ne'er play'd the wanton-never half-disclosed

The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence
THROUGII Weeds and thorns, and matted underwood Eye-poisons for some love-distemper'd youth,
I force my way; now climb, and now descend

Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove

Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart

Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.

Throbbing within them, Heart at once and Eye!

With its soft neighborhood of filmy clouds, Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright,

The stains and shadings of forgotten tears, Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast,

Dimness o'erswum with lustre ! Such the hour That swells its little breast, so full of song,

Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds, Singing above me, on the mountain-ash.

And hark, the noise of a near waterfall! And thou too, desert Stream! no pool of thine,

I pass forth into light-I find myself Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve,

Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe,

Of forest-trees, the Lady of the woods), The face, the form divine, the downcast look Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock Contemplative! Behold! her open palm

That overbrows the cataract. How bursts Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests

The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree,

Fold in behind each other, and so make That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile

A circular vale, and land-lock'd, as might seem, Had from her countenance turn'd, or look'd by With brook and bridge, and gray stone cottages, stealth

Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet, For fear is true love's cruel nurse), he now

The whortle-berries are bedew'd with spray, With stedfast gaze and unoffending eye,

Dash'd upwards by the furious waterfall. Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes

How solemnly the pendent ivy mass Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,

Swings in its winnow: all the air is calm. E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed,

The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with But not unheeded gazed : for see, ah! see,

light, The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks

Rises in columns ; from this house alone, The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow,

Close by the waterfall, the column slants, Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells :

And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this? And suddenly, as one that toys with time,

That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke, Scatters them on the pool ! Then all the charm

And close beside its porch a sleeping child, Is broken-all that phantom-world so fair

His dear head pillow'd on a sleeping dogVanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,

One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand And each misshapes the other. Stay awhile,

Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers, Poor youth, who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes! Unfilleted, and of unequal lengths. The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon

A curious picture, with master's haste The visions will return! And lo! he stays :

Sketch'd on a strip of pinky-silver skin, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms

Peel'd from the birchen bark! Divinest maid ! Come trembling back, unite, and now once more

Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries The pool becomes a mirror; and behold

Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried Each wild-flower on the marge inverted there,

On the fine skin! She has been newly here ; And there the half-uprooted tree—but where,

And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couchO where the virgin's snowy arm, that lean'd

The pressure still remains! O blessed couch! On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone!

For this mayst thou flower early, and the Sun, Homeward she steals through many a woodland Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long maze

Upon thy purple bells ! O Isabel!. Which he shall seek in vain. Nl-fated youth!

Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids ! Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime

More beautiful than whom Alc&us wooed, In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook,

The Lesbian woman of immortal song ! Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou

O child of genius! stately, beautiful, Behold'st her shadow still abiding there,

And full of love to all, save only me, The Naiad of the Mirror!

And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart,

Why beats it thus ? Through yonder coppice-wood Not to thee,

Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway

On to her father's house. She is alone! O wild and desert Stream! belongs this tale:

The night draws on—such ways are hard to hitGloomy and dark art thou—the crowded firs

And fit it is I should restore this sketch, Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed,

Dropt unawares, no doubt. Why should I yearn Making thee doleful as a cavern-well:

To keep the relic? 't will but idly feed
Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest
On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream! The picture in my hand which she has left,

The passion that consumes me. Let me haste !

She cannot blame me that I follow'd her ; This be my chosen haunt-emancipate

And I may be her guide the long wood through
From passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone,
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead,
Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms.
Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs,

THE NIGHT-SCENE:
How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock,
Isle of the river, whose disparted waves

A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT.
Dart off asunder with' an angry sound,
Flow soon to reunite! And see! they meet,
Each in the other lost and found : and see

You loved the daughter of Don Manrique ?

SANDOVAL.

EARL HENRY.

Loved ?

Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.
Oh! there is joy above the name of pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense repose.

SANDOVAL

Did you not say you woo'd her ?

EARL HENRY

SANDOVAL.

EARL HENRY.

SANDOVAL (with a sarcastic smile).

Once I loved No other than as eastern sages paint, Her whom I dared not woo!

The God, who floats upon a lotos leaf,

Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,
SANDOVAL

Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,

And wood, perchance, Relapses into bliss. One whom you loved not!

EARL HENRY.

Ah! was that bliss

Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?

Oh! I were most base, For suddenly, impatient of its silence,
Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her,
Hoping to heal a deeper wound ; but she

Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.
Met my advances with impassion'd pride,

I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them That kindled love with love. And when her sire, Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?

Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice, Who in his dream of hope already grasp'd

I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit with insult, and in memory

The purpose and the substance of my being, of ancient feuds pour'd curses on my head,

I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, Her blessings overtook and baffled them!

I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance

Friend ! by that winding passage, to that bower Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.

I now will go-all objects there will teach me

Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.
Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her-

Say nothing of me I myself will seek herAnxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.

Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment But Oropeza

And keen inquiry of that scanning eye

[EARL HENRY retires into the wood Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage,

SANDOVAL (alone). Beneath the walls, which opens out at length

O Henry! always strivest thou to be great Into the gloomiest covert of the garden

By thine own act-yet art thou never great The night ere my departure to the army,

But by the inspiration of great passion. She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And to that covert by a silent stream,

And shape themselves : from Earth to Heaven they Which, with one star reflected near its marge,

stand, Was the sole object visible around me.

As though they were the pillars of a temple, No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;

Built by Omnipotence in its own honor ! So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us !

But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit No leaflet stirr'd ;-yet pleasure hung upon

Is fled: the mighty columns were but sand,
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.

And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
A little further on an arbor stood,
Fragrant with flowering trees—I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness
Their snow-white blossoms made-thither she led

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled-
I heard her heart beat-if 't were not my own. WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF

EARL HENRY.

me,

HER INNOCENCE.

SANDOVAL

A rude and scaring note, my friend !

MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,

Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread,

Far from thy protecting spray'

EARL HENRY.

Oh! no !
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love:
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature,
Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us :
We were all life, each atom of our frames
A living sonl—I vow'd to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,

When the Partridge o'er the sheaf

Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!

Love the dalliance of the gale

Lightly didst thou, foolish thing.

Heave and flutter to his sighs,
While the flatterer, on his wing,
Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise.

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