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VIII.

"I myself, like a school-boy, fhould tremble to hear "The hoarfe ivy fhake over ny head; "And could fancy I faw, half perfuaded by fear, "Some ugly old Abbot's white fpirit appear, "For this wind might awaken the dead!"

IX.

"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
"That Mary would venture there now."
"Then wager and lofe!" with a fneer he replied,
"I'll warrant fhe'd fancy a ghost by her fide,
"And faint if fhe faw a white cow."

X.

"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?" His companion exclaim'd with a fmile;

"I fhall win, for I know the will venture there now, "And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough "From the elder that grows in the aifle."

XI.

With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
And her way to the Abbey fhe bent:
The night it was dark, and the wind it was high,
And as hollowly howling it fwept thro' the sky
She fhiver'd with cold as fhe went.

XII.

O'er the path fo well known ftill proceeded the Maid
Where the Abbey rofe dim on the fight,
Thro' the gate-way the entered, the felt not afraid,
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their fhade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.

XIII.

All around her was filent, fave when the rude blaft
Howl'd difmally round the old pile;

Over weed-cover'd fragments ftill fearless the paft,
And arrived at the innermoft ruin at last

Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle.

XIV.

Well-pleas'd did the reach it, and quickly drew near
And haftily gather'd the bough;

When the found of a voice feem'd to rife on her ear,
She paus'd, and fhe liften'd, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now.

XV.

The wind blew, the hoarfe ivy fhook over her head,
She liften'd,-naught elfe could she hear,

The wind ceas'd, her heart funk in her bosom with dread,
For the heard in the ruins diftinctly the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.

XVI.

Behind a wide column half breathlefs with fear
She crept to conceal herself there:

That inftant the moon o'er a dark cloud fhone clear,
And the faw in the moon-light two ruffians appear,
And between them a corpfe did they bear.

XVII.

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by,—

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold

Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd,—

She felt, and expected to die.

XVIII.

"Curfe the hat!" he exclaims, "nay come on here, and hide "The dead body," his comrade replies.

She beholds them in fafety pafs on by her fide,

She feizes the hat, fear her courage fupplied,
And faft thro' the Abbey fhe flies.

XIX.

She ran with wild speed, the ruth'd in at the door,

She gazed horribly eager around,

Then her limbs could fupport their faint burthen no more,

And exhausted and breathlefs fhe funk on the floor

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XX.

Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,
For a moment the hat met her view;-
Her eyes from that object convulfively start,

For-oh God! what cold horror then thrill'd thro' her heart,
When the name of her Richard fhe knew!

XXI.

Where the old Abbey ftands, on the common hard by

His gibbet is now to be feen,

Not far from the road it engages the eye,

The traveller beholds it, and thinks with a sigh

Of poor Mary the Maid of the Inn.

LINES found in a BowER facing the SOUTH.

[From ENGLISH LYRICS.]

OFT Cherub of the fouthern breeze,

Son!ther whofe voice I love to hear,
When lingering thro' the ruftling trees,
With lengthened fighs it fooths mine ear;

Oh! thou whofe fond embrace to meet,
The young Spring all enamoured flies,
And robs thee of thy kiffes fweet,

And on thee pours her laughing eyes!

Thou at whofe call the light Fays start,
That filent in their hidden bower

Lie penciling with tendereft art,

The blossom thin and infant flower!

Soft Cherub of the fouther, breeze,
Oh! if aright I tune the reed
Which thus thine ear would hope to please,
By fimple lay, and humble meed;

And if aright, with anxious zeal,

My willing hands this bower have made,
Still let this bower thine influence feel,
And be its gloom thy favourite shade!

For three of all the cherub train
Alone my votive muse would woo,
Of all that kim along the main,
Or walk at dawn yon mountains blue;

Of

Of all that flumber in the grove,

Or playful urge the goffamer's flight, Or down the vale or ftreamlet move, With whisper foft, and pinion light.

I court ee, thro' the glimmering air,
When morning fprings from flumbers ftill,
And waving bright his golden hair,
Stands tiptoe on yon eastern hill.

I court thee, when at noon reclined,
I watch the murmuring infect throng
In many an airy fpiral wind,

Or filent climb the leaf along.

I court thee when the flow'rets close,
And drink no more receding light;
And when calm eve to foft repose
Sinks on the bofom of the night;

And when beneath the moon's pale beam,
Alone 'mid fhadowy rocks I roam,
And waking vifions round me gleam,
Of beings, and of worlds to come.

Smooth glides with thee my penfive hour,
Thou warm'ft to life my languid mind;
Thou cheer'st a frame with genial power,
That droops in every ruder wind."

Breathe, Cherub! breathe! once foft and warm,
Like thine, the gale of Fortune blew :

How has the defolating storm

Swept all I gazed on from my view!

Unfeen, unknown, I wait my doom,
The haunts of men indignant flee,

Hold to my heart a liftless gloom,
And joy but in the mufe and thee.

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Mirth! oh tay thee, and awhile
Let me bask beneath thy fmile-
Dearest goddess! for my foul
Willing owns-thy lov'd controul;
Ever let me bend to thee,
Ever be thy votary--

Earth and air, the fea, the fkies,
Each to man a blifs fupplies.
Countless beings in light measure
Round him dance and whifper pleasure,
Still to joy defires inviting,
Anfwering fenfes ftill delighting.
Where their gloom could fages borrow,
Man who call the child of forrow?

For fure tho' mirth but airy phantoms bring,
Tho' pleasures in our way no rofes fling;
Tho' fcorn'd by all the powers that I adore-
Still, mighty love! haft thou no joys in store?
Thy foft delufions, and delicious fears,

Fond hopes, and keen delights, and burning tears;
Oh! tell them all, or bid these grey-beards wife
Caft but one glance on my Eliza's eyes.

Mine too be each foften'd pleasure,
Thou, Thalia, canft impart;
Laughter, happy beyond measure,
Gaiety, that mends the heart!
These are thine, and fatire keen,
Wit, that jeers eccentric folly,
And tenderness, that clothes the scene,
In tranfient, pleafing melancholy-
-Or fee where fancy now in trance profcund,
On fome lov'd scene her pencil filent plies;
Nor hears the bufy world that murmurs round,
Or fmiles to hear, and liftens to despise;
And starting now, with look impatient calls,

And bids her beaming car the lightnings bear,
Far, far beyond the realms where funbeam falls,
Or comets on the darkness pour their glare;
And there her myfteries to her favourites fhews,
Sketching bright vifions on the deepened gloom;
Or weaves dark dreams, while, as the texture grows,
Surprise broods raptured o'er the awful loom.

And me too, if on me fhe deign to fmile,

Let mufing fcience fhew her inaoft bowers, And all her lore unfold-unheard the while On gliding wing fhall move the filent hours.

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