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Gaudy as the opening dawn, Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His sides are clothed with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps;
So both a safety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state;
But transient is the smile of Fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run,
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear:
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present 's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;

Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For, while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts; be great who will; Search for Peace with all your skill: Open wide the lofty door,

Seek her on the marble floor.

In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side:

And often, by the murmuring rill.
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

John Dyer.-Born 1700, Died 1758.

881. THE BRAES OF YARROW. A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow?
A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,

Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen, Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her lover lover dear,
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow,
And I hae slain the comeliest swain
That e'er poued birks on the Braes of
Yarrow.

Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red?

Why on thy braes heard the voice of

sorrow?

And why yon melancholious weeds

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude?

What's yonder floats? O dule and sor

row!

'Tis he, the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow,
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,
And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow,
And weep around in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield,
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,
The fatal spear that pierced his breast,
His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee not to lue,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;
O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of
Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green
grows the
grass,

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan,
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet

flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae the rock as mellow.

Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,
In flowery bands thou him didst fetter;
Though he was fair and weil beloved again,
Than me he never lued thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the Braes of

Yarrow.

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The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewing,
Ah! wretched me! I little little kenn'd
He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white milk-white steed,

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day;
I sang, my voice the woods returning,
But lang ere night the spear was flown

That slew my love, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me?
My lover's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?

My happy sisters may be may be proud;
With cruel and ungentle scoffin,
May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes
My lover nail'd in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me,

My lover's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou ever bid me love thee?

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband lover.

But who the expected husband husband is? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter.

Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after?

Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down, O lay his cold head on my pillow; Take aff take aff these bridal weeds,

And crown my careful head with willow.

Pale though thou art, yet best yet best beloved,

O could my warmth to life restore thee!
Ye'd lie all night between my breasts,
No youth lay ever there before thee.

Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night between my breasts, No youth shall ever lie there after.

Return, return, O mournful mournful bride,
Return and dry thy useless sorrow :
Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs,
He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

William Hamilton.-Born 1704, Died 1754.

882.-SONG.

Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale, Where Yarrow streams along, Forsake your rural toils, and join In my triumphant song.

She grants, she yields; one heavenly smile

Atones her long delays,

One happy minute crowns the pains
Of many suffering days.

Raise, raise the victor notes of joy,

These suffering days are o'er; Love satiates now his boundless wish From beauty's boundless store :

No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears, This rising calm destroy;

Now every prospect smiles around, All op'ning into joy.

The sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,' Brighten'd each hill, and o'er each vale New colour'd every flower:

The gales their gentle sighs withheld,
No leaf was seen to move,
The hovering songsters round were mute,
And wonder hush'd the grove.

The hills and dales no more resound The lambkin's tender cry; Without one murmur Yarrow stole In dimpling silence by :

All nature scem'd in still repose
Her voice alone to hear,

That gently roll'd the tuneful wave,
She spoke and bless'd my ear.

Take, take whate'er of bliss or joy You fondly fancy mine; Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast, Love renders wholly thine :

The woods struck up to the soft gale,
The leaves were seen to move,
The feather'd choir resumed their voice,
And wonder fill'd the grove;

The hills and dales again resound
The lambkins' tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow trill'd
The song of triumph by ;

Above, beneath, around, all on

Was verdure, beauty, song;

I snatch'd her to my trembling breast, All nature joy'd along.

William Hamilton.-Born 1704, Died 1754.

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To breathe in distant fields a purer air;
And fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.
For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's
land,

Or change the rocks of Scotland for the
Strand ?

There none are swept by sudden fate away, But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay:

Here malice, rapine, accident conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.
While Thales waits the wherry that con-
tains

Of dissipated wealth the small remains,

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On Thames's banks, in silent thought we stood,

Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood:

Struck with the seat that gave Eliza birth, We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth; In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, And call Britannia's glories back to view; Behold her cross triumphant on the main, The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain,

Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, Or English honour grew a standing jest.

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, And for a moment lull the sense of woe. At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town: "Since worth," he cries, "in these degenerate days,

Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise; In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain,

Since unrewarded science toils in vain;

Since hope but soothes to double my distress,
And every moment leaves my little less;
While yet my steady steps no staff sustains,
And life still vigorous revels in my veins;
Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier
place,

Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play,

Some peaceful vale with Nature's painting

gay;

Where once the harass'd Briton found repose,
And safe in poverty defied his foes;
Some secret cell, ye powers indulgent, give,
Letlive here, for

has learn'd to live.

Here let those reign whom pensions can

incite

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A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear,
And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer:
Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd,
And strive in vain to laugh at H-y's
jest.

66 Others, with softer smiles and subtler art,

Can sap the principles, or taint the heart;
With more address a lover's note convey,
Or bribe a virgin's innocence away.

Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue

Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong,
Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.

"For what but social guilt the friend endears?

Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortunes shares.

But thou, should tempting villany present
All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers

spent,

Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful

eye,

Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy, The peaceful slumber, self-approving day, Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay.

"The cheated nation's happy favourites,

see!

Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me!

London! the needy villain's general home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome,
With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.
Forgive my transports on a theme lile this,
I cannot bear a French metropolis.

"Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day,

The land of heroes and of saints survey!
Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace;
But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty
show,

Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;
Sense, freedom, piety, refined away,

Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.
"All that at home no more can beg or
steal,

Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;
Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the

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"Studious to please, and ready to submit, The supple Gaul was born a parasite: Still to his interest true, where'er he goes, Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows:

In every face a thousand graces shine,
From every tongue flows harmony divine.
These arts in vain our rugged natives try,
Strain out with faltering diffidence a lie,
And gain a kick for awkward flattery.

"Besides, with justice, this discerning age Admires their wondrous talents for the stage:

Well may they venture on the mimic's art, Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part :

Practised their master's notions to embrace,
Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face!
With every wild absurdity comply,
And view each object with another's eye;
To shake with laughter ere the jest they
hear,

To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.
How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend?
Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
And lie without a blush, without a smile;
Exalt each trifle, every vice adore,

Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore ;

Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air! "For arts like these preferr'd, admired, caress'd,

They first invade your table, then your breast;

Explore your secrets with insidious art, Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart;

Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay,
Commence your lords, and govern or betray.
"By numbers here, from shame or censure
free,

All crimes are safe but hated poverty:
This, only this, the rigid law pursues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling muse.
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a
joke;

With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ;
Fate never wounds more deep the generous
heart

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For where can starving Merit find a home? In vain your mournful narrative disclose, While all neglect, and most insult your woes. "Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies;
The laureate tribe in servile verse relate
How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate:
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising

dome;

The price of boroughs and of souls restore,
And raise his treasures higher than before:
Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great,
The polish'd marble, and the shining plate,
Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,
And hopes from angry Heaven another fire.
"Couldst thou resign the park and play

content,

For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent; There mightst thou find some elegant retreat, Some hireling senator's deserted seat,

And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land,

For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;

There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers,

Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers:
And while thy beds a cheap repast afford,
Despise the dainties of a venal lord:
There every bush with nature's music rings,
There every breeze bears health upon its
wings;

On all thy hours security shall smile,
And bless thine evening walk and morning

toil.

"Prepare for death, if here at night you

roam;

And sign your will, before you sup from home.

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