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And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, ere-whilo, in arid bundles bound,

To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle

rare perfume.

And here trim rosemarine, that whilom

crown'd The daintiest garden of the proudest peer ; Ere, driven from its envied site, it found A sacred shelter for its branches here; Where edged with gold its glittering skirts

appear, Oh wassel days! O customs meet and

well! Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere :

Simplicity then sought this humble cell, Nor ever would she more with thane and

lordling dwell.

Right well she knew each temper to

descry; To thwart the proud, and the submiss to

raise ; Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, And some entice with pittance small of

praise, And other some with baleful sprig she

'frays : E'en absent, she the reins of power doth

hold, i While with quaint arts the giddy crowd

she sways : Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks

behold, 'Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene


Lo now with state she utters the command ! Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair ; Their books of stature small they take in

hand, Which with pellucid horn secured are, To save from finger wet the letters fair : The work so gay that on their back is

seen, St. George's high achievements does

declare; On which thilk wight that has y.gazing

been, Kens the forthcoming rod, unpleasing sight, I


Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent

eve, Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did

mete, If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did

cleave, But in her garden found a summer-seat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a song entreat,

All, for the nonce, untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had

they to sing. For she was just, and friend to virtuous

lore, And pass'd much time in truly virtuous

deed; And in those elfins' ears, would oft deplore The times, when Truth by Popish rage did

bleed ; And tortuous death was true Devotion's

meed; And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her

creed; And lawny saints in smouldering flames did

burn : Ah! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days should

e'er return.

Ah luckless he, and born beneath the

beam Of evil star ! it irks me whilst I write : As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream, Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight, Sigh'd as he sung, and did in tears indite. For brandishing the rod, she doth begin To loose the brogues, the stripling's late

delight! And down they drop; appears his dainty

skin, Fair as the furry-coat of whitest ermilin.

O ruthful scene! when from a nook

obscure, His little sister doth his peril see : All playful as she sate, she grows demure ; She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee; She meditates a prayer to set him free : Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agree).

To her sad grief that swells in either eye, And wings her so that all for pity she could


In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem
By the sharp tooth of cankering eld de.

faced, In which, when he receives his diadem, Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is

placed, The matron sate ; and some with rank she

graced, (The source of children's and of courtiers'

pride!) edress'd affronts, for vile affronts there R pass’d;

And warn’d them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them


No longer can she now her shrieks com

mand; And hardly she forbears, through awful

fear, To rushen forth, and, with presumptuous

hand, To stay harsh Justice in its mid career.

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shall die

See to their seats they hye with merry glee,
And in beseemly order sitten there ;
All but the wight of bum y-galled, he
Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm,

and chair; (This hand in mouth y-fixed, that rends his

hair ;) And eke with snubs profound, and heaving

breast, Convulsions intermitting ! does declare His grievous wrong; his dame's unjust

behest; And scorns her offer'd love and shuns to be


Though now he crawl along the ground so

low, Nor, weeting how the Muse should soar on

high, Wisheth, poor starveling elf ! his paper kite

may fly. And this perhaps, who, censuring the

design, Low lays the house which that of cards

doth build, Shall Dennis be! if rigid Fate incline, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; And many a poet quit th' Aonian field; And, sour'd by age, profound he shall

appear, As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrillid Surveys mine work; and levels many a

sneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, “ What

stuff is here?

His face besprent with liquid crystal

shines, His blooming face that seems a purple

flower, Which low to earth its drooping head de

clines, All smear'd and sullied by a vernal shower. O the hard bosoms of despotic power ! All, all, but she, the author of his shame, All, all, but she, regret this mournful hour : Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower

shall claim, If so I deem aright, transcending worth and


But now Dan Phæbus gains the middle

skie, And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; And like a rushing torrent out they fly, And now the grassy cirque han cover d o'er

With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar; Admired Salopia! that with venial pride
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run, Fyes her bright form in Severn's ambient
Heaven shield their short-lived pastimes, I wave,

Famed for her loyal cares in perils try'd,
For well may Freedom erst so dearly won, Her daughters lovely, and her striplings
Appear to British elf more gladsome than the brave:

Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his

grave Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive Whose heart did first these dulcet cates trade,

display! And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest

A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave, flowers;

Who cheerless o'er her darkling region For when my bones in grass-green sods are

striy; laid,

Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on For never may ye taste more careless hours

their way. In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers. O vain to seek delight in earthly thing!

Shenstone.Born 1714, Died 1763. But most in courts where proud Ambition

towers; Deluded wight! who weens fair Peace can spring

894.-A PASTORAL BALLAD. Beneath the pompons dome of kesar or of king.


Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, See in each sprite some various bent

Whose flocks never carelessly roam ; appear!

Should Corydon's happen to stray, These rudely carol most incondite lay;

Oh! call the poor wanderers homo. Those sauntering on the green, with jocund

Allow me to muse and to sigh, leer

Nor talk of the change that ye find; Salute the stranger passing on his way;

None once was so watchful as I ; Some builden fragile tenements of clay;

I have left my dear Phyllis behind. Some to the standing lake their courses bend,

Now I know what it is, to have strove With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to

With the torture of doubt and desire ; play ;

What it is to admire and to love,
Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend, And to leave her we love and admire.
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite Ah ! lead forth my flock in the morn,
to spend.

And the damps of each evening repel;

Alas! I am faint and forlorn : Here, as each season yields a different

-I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. Each season's stores in order rangèd | Since Phyllis vouchsafed me a look. been;

I never once dreamt of my vine : Apples with cabbage-net y.cover'd o'er,

May I lose both my pipe and my crook, Galling full sore the unmoney'd wight, are If I knew of a kid that was mine! seen ;

I prized ev'ry hour that went by, And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green ; Beyond all that had pleased me before ; And here of lovely dye, the catherine pear, | But now they are past, and I sigh ; Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween:

And I grieve that I prized them no more. O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hope. | But why do I languish in vain ; less care!

Why wander thus pensively here?

Oh! why did I come from the plain, See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,

Where I fed on the smiles of my dear ? With thread so white in tempting posies They tell me, my favourite maid, tied,

The pride of that valley, is flown ; Scattering like blooming maid their glances

Alas! where with her I have stray'd, round,

I could wander with pleasure, alone.
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside ;
And must be bought, though penury | When forced the fair nymph to forego,

What anguish I felt at my heart!
The plum all azure and the nut all brown, Yet I thought—but it might not be so-
And here each season do those cakes abide, 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
Whose honour'd names the inventive city | She gazed, as I slowly withdrew;

My path I could hardly discern; Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's So sweetly she bade me adien, praises known;

1 I thought that she bade me return.


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| 'Tis his with mock passion to glow,

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, How her face is as bright as the snow,

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labour the strain,

With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain,

Repine at her triumphs, and die.

I have found out a gift for my fair ;
I have found where the wood - pigeons

breed :
But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,

Who would rob a poor bird of its young : And I loved her the more when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue. I have heard her with sweetness unfold

How that pity was due to-a dove : That it ever attended the bold;

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,

So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,

Methinks I should love her the more.

To the grove or the garden he strays,

And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“O Phyllis," he whispers, “ more fair,

More sweet than the jessamine's flower ! What are pinks in a morn to compare ?

What is eglantine after a shower ?

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