898.-EDWIN AND EMMA.

Far in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,

The safe retreat of health and peace,

A humble cottage stood.

There beauteous Emma flourished fair,
Beneath a mother's eye;
Whose only wish on earth was now
To see her blest, and die.

The softest blush that nature spreads
Gave colour to her cheek;

Such orient colour smiles through heaven,
When vernal mornings break.

Nor let the pride of great ones scorn
This charmer of the plains:

That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze,
To paint our lily deigns.

Long had she filled each youth with love,
Each maiden with despair;
And though by all a wonder owned,
Yet knew not she was fair:

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,
A soul devoid of art;
And from whose eye, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly too revealed;
For neither bosom lodged a wish
That virtue keeps concealed.

What happy hours of home-felt bliss
Did love on both bestow !
But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where fortune proves a foe.

His sister, who, like envy formed,
Like her in mischief joyed,

To work them harm, with wicked skill,
Each darker art employed.

The father, too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew,
Was all unfeeling as the clod

From whence his riches grew.

Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmoved;
Then with a father's frown at last
Had sternly disapproved.

In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing passions strove :
His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept, To snatch a glance, to mark the spot Where Emma walked and wept. Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul, The midnight mourner strayed.

A deadly pale o'ercast;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,
Before the northern blast.

The parents now, with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed;

And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,
And fruitless sorrows shed.

'Tis past! he cried, but, if your souls
Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let these dim eyes once more behold
What they must ever love!

She came; his cold hand softly touched,
And bathed with many a tear :
Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.

But oh! his sister's jealous care,
A cruel sister she!

Forbade what Emma came to say ;

"My Edwin, live for me!"

Now homeward as she hopeless wept,
The churchyard path along,

The blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed
Her lover's funeral song.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,
His groan in every sound.

Alone, appalled, thus had she passed
The visionary vale-

When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,
Sad sounding in the gale!

Just then she reached, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door:

"He's gone!" she cried, "and I shall see That angel face no more.

I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side!

From her white arm down sunk her head-
She shivered, sighed, and died.

David Mallet.-Born 1700, Died 1765.

899.-SONG.

The smiling morn, the breathing spring,
Invite the tuneful birds to sing,
And while they warble from each spray,
Love melts the universal lay.

Let us, Amanda, timely wise,
Like them improve the hour that flies,
And in soft raptures waste the day
Among the shades of Endermay.
For soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter, will appear:

With thoughts beyond the limit of h's frame;

But that the Omnipotent might send him forth

In sight of mortal and immortal powers,

As on a boundless theatre, to run

The great career of justice; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds;

To chase each partial purpose from his breast:

And through the mists of passion and of sense, And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice
Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent
Of Nature, calls him to his high reward,
The applauding smile of Heaven?
wherefore burns

Else

In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope,
That breathes from day to day sublimer

things,

The form of beauty smiling at his heart, How lovely! how commanding! But though

heaven

In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming |
head,

Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to different objects: one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild;
Another sighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning
fires

The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the
ground;

When furious whirlwinds rend the howling
air,

And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky,
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
From some high cliff superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs
All on the margin of some flowery stream
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain
Resound soft-warbling all the live-long day:
Consenting zephyr sighs; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the
groves;

And hill and dale with all their echoes

mourn.

Such and so various are the tastes of men.
O blest of heaven! whom not the languid
songs

Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes
Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the

store

Of nature fair imagination culls

To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not all

Of mortal offspring can attain the heights
Of envied life; though only few possess
Patrician treasures or imperial state;
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them. His the city's

pomp,

The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,

Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the spring

Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold and blushes like the

morn.

Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;

And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence par-
takes

Fresh pleasure only: for the attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,

This fair inspired delight: her tempered powers

Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all
These lesser graces, she assumes the port
Of that eternal majesty that weighed
The world's foundations; if to these the
mind

Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the
forms

Of servile custom cramp her generous power;
Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo she appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied

course,

The elements and seasons: all declare
For what the eternal Maker has ordained
The powers of man: we feel within ourselves
His energy divine: he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom nature's works can charm, with God
himself

Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions, act upon his plan,
And form to his, the relish of their souls.
Akenside.-Born 1721, Died 1770.

903-AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. Thrice has the spring beheld thy faded fame, And the fourth winter rises on thy shame, Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell,

In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell;

Bless'd could my skill through ages make thee

shine,

And proud to mix my memory with thine. But now the cause that waked my song before,

With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil

no more.

If to the glorious man whose faithful cares,
Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years,
Had awed Ambition's wild audacious hate,
And dragg'd at length Corruption to her
fate;

If every tongue its large applanses owed,
And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd;
If public Justice urged the high reward,
And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard;
Say then, to him whose levity or lust
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust;
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of
power,

And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour;
Does not each tongue its execrations owe?
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame
bestow,

And public Justice sanctify th' award, And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard?

Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes,

And wish'd and hoped the light again would rise.

But since thy guilt still more entire appears,
Since no art hides, no supposition clears;
Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her
blast,

And the first rage of party hate is past;
Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come
To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy
doom:

So may my trust from all reproach be free;
And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree.

There are who say they view'd without

amaze

The sad reverse of all thy former praise:
That through the pageants of a patriot's name,
They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim;
Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw
The public thunder on a private foe.
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause,
Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause,
Who saw the spirits of each glorious age
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage;
I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish
minds,

The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds.

Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
And all who prove that each man has his
price,

I still believed thy end was just and free;
And yet, even yet, believe it-spite of thee.
Even though thy mouth impure has dared
disclaim,

Urged by the wretched impotence of shame,

Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd;

Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show;
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe;
Has boasted in thy country's awful ear,

Her gross delusion when she held thee dear; How tame she follow'd thy tempestuous call,

And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all

Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old
For laws subverted, and for cities sold!
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you perjured, and the blood you
spilt;

Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
One dreadful palm reserved for him alone;
With studied arts his country's praise to

spurn,

To beg the infamy he did not earn,

To challenge hate when honour was his due, And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew.

Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose
From each fair feeling human nature knows?
Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear
To all that reason, all that sense would
hear ?

Else couldst thou e'er desert thy sacred post,
In such unthankful baseness to be lost?
Else couldst thou wed the emptiness of vice,
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price?

When they who, loud for liberty and laws, In doubtful times had fought their country's

cause,

When now of conquest and dominion sure, They sought alone to hold their fruits

secure;

When taught by these, Oppression hid the face,

To leave Corruption stronger in her place,
By silent spells to work the public fato,
And taint the vitals of the passive state,
Till healing Wisdom should avail no more,
And Freedom loathe to tread the poison'd

shore :

Then, like some guardian god that flies to

save

The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake

Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake;

Then Curio rose to ward the public woe,
To wake the heedless, and incite the slow,
Against Corruption Liberty to arm,

And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm.

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew, And with thy country's hopes thy honours

grew.

Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd; Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless'd;

Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds; The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns;

Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier

fires,

To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires;

The learn'd recluse, who oft amazed had read

Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead,
With new amazement hears a living name
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame;
And he who, scorning courts and courtly
ways,

Left the tame track of these dejected days,
The life of nobler ages to renew

In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, Roused by thy labours from the bless'd retreat,

Where social ease and public passions meet,
Again ascending treads the civil scene,
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been.

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew,
And the great end appear'd at last in view:
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice,
We saw the senate bending to thy voice;
The friends of freedom hail'd the approaching
reign

Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain; While venal Faction, struck with new dis

may,

Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay.

Waked in the shock the public Genius rose, Abash'd and keener from his long repose; Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear;

The city felt his call: from man to man, From street to street, the glorious horror

ran;

Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power,

And, murmuring, challenged the deciding

hour.

Lo! the deciding hour at last appears; The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears!

Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name,
O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame!
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll,
And guide each movement steady to the
goal.

Ye spirits by whose providential art
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart,
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind,
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind!
Ye shades immortal, who by Freedom led,
Or in the field or on the scaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye,
And view the crown of all your labours nigh.
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne!
The sword submitted, and the laws her

own:

See public Power chastised beneath her stands,

With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands! See private Life by wisest arts reclaim'd! See ardent youth to noblest manners framed!