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, 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, XII. O'er the path fo well known ftill proceeded the Maid XIII. All around her was filent, fave when the rude blaft Over weed-cover'd fragments ftill fearless the paft, Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle. XIV. Well-pleas'd did the reach it, and quickly drew near When the found of a voice feem'd to rife on her ear, XV. The wind blew, the hoarfe ivy fhook over her head, The wind ceas'd, her heart funk in her bosom with dread, XVI. Behind a wide column half breathlefs with fear That inftant the moon o'er a dark cloud fhone clear, XVII. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! 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, 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 XX. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For-oh God! what cold horror then thrill'd thro' her heart, 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, Oh! thou whofe fond embrace to meet, And on thee pours her laughing eyes! Thou at whofe call the light Fays start, Lie penciling with tendereft art, The blossom thin and infant flower! Soft Cherub of the fouther, breeze, And if aright, with anxious zeal, My willing hands this bower have made, For three of all the cherub train 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, I court thee, when at noon reclined, Or filent climb the leaf along. I court thee when the flow'rets close, And when beneath the moon's pale beam, Smooth glides with thee my penfive hour, Breathe, Cherub! breathe! once foft and warm, How has the defolating storm Swept all I gazed on from my view! Unfeen, unknown, I wait my doom, Hold to my heart a liftless gloom, Mirth! oh tay thee, and awhile Earth and air, the fea, the fkies, For fure tho' mirth but airy phantoms bring, Fond hopes, and keen delights, and burning tears; Mine too be each foften'd pleasure, And bids her beaming car the lightnings bear, 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. 1 Ah! |