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Aw'd by the power of this relentless And think, no doubt, she been the dame,

greatest wight on ground. And oft times, on vagaries idly bent, For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are Albeit, ne flattery did corrupt her truth, sorely shent.

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear,

Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forNear to this dome is found a patch so

sooth, green,

Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; On which the tribe their gambols do dis- Yet these she challeng'd, these she held play,

right dear; And at the door imprisoning board is

Ne would esteem him act as mough seen,

behove Lest weakly wights of smaller size should Who should not honour'd eld with these stray,

revere: Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day!

For never title yet so mean could prove. The noises intermix’d, which thence re

But there was eke a mind which did that sound,

title love. Do learning's little tenement betray, Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look Herbs too she knew, and well of each profound,

could speak And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her That in her garden sipp'd the silvery dew, wheel around.

Where no vain flower disclos'd a gaudy

streak, Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, But herbs for use and physic, not a few Emblem right meet of decency does Of gray renown, within those borders yield;

grew; Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trow, The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, As is the harebell that adorns the field; Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful And in her hand, for sceptre, she does hue, wield

The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, 'Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fear And more I fain would sing, disdaining entwin'd,

here to rhyme. With dark distrust, and sad repentance fill’d,

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction That gives dim eyes to wander leagues join'd,

around, And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement And pungent radish, biting infant's unkind.

tongue,

And plantain ribb’d, that heals the A russet stole was o'er her shoulders reaper's wound, thrown,

And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's A russet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;

posy found, 'Twas simple russet, but it was her own; And lavender, whose spikes of azure 'Twas her own country bred the flock so

bloom fair;

Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles 'Twas her own labour did the fleece pre- bound, pare;

To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And, sooth to say, her pupils rang'd

And crown her kerchiefs clean with around,

mickle rare perfume. Through pious awe did term it passing rare,

Here oft the dame, on sabbath's decent For they in gaping wonderment abound, eve,

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1720-1771. [Born in 1720 at Dalquhurn, in the County of Dumbarton; educated under a surgeon in Glasgow, where he attended the medical lectures of the University; married a lady of Jamaica; died in the neighborhood of Leghorn, Oct., 1771.]

THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. MOURN, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! Where once they fed their wanton flocks: Thy sons, for valor long renown'd, Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain; Lie slaughter'd on their native ground; Thy infants perish on the plain. Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door;

What boots it, then, in every clime, In smoky ruins sunk they lie,

Through the wide-spreading waste of The monuments of cruelty.

time,

Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, The wretched owner sees afar

Still shone with undiminish'd blaze ! His all become the prey of war; Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Thy neck is bended to the yoke. Then smites his breast, and curses What foreign arms could never quell. life.

By civil rage and rancor fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day:
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night:
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.

With frantic superstition for his guide,
Arm'd with the dagger and the pall,
The sons of Woden to the field defied:
The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,
In Heaven's name urged the infernal

blow, And red the stream began to flow: Thevanquish’dwere baptized with blood !

O baneful cause! oh, fatal morn!
Accursed to ages yet unborn!
The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceased,
The victor's soul was not appeased :
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames and murd'ring steel !

The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Forsaken wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend;
Andstretch'd beneath th’inclementskies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.

ANTISTROPHE. The Saxon prince in horror fled From altars stain'd with human gore; And Liberty his routed legions led In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. There in a cave asleep she lay, Lull’d by the hoarse-resounding main; When a bold savage past that way, Impell’d by destiny, his name Disdain. Of ample front the portly chief appear'd: The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest; The drifted snow hung on his yellow

beard; And his broad shoulders braved the

furious blast. He stopt: he gazed; his bosom glow'd, And deeply felt the impression of her

charms: He seized the advantage fate allow'd, And straight compressed her in his vig.

orous arms.

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STROPHE. The curlew scream'd, the tritons blew Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; Old Time exulted as he flew; And Independence saw the light. The light he saw in Albion's happy

plains, Where under cover of a flowering thorn, While Philomel renew'd her warbled

strains, The auspicious fruit of stol'n embrace

was born. The mountain dryads seized with joy, The smiling infant to their care con

sign'd; The Doric muse caress'd the favorite

boy; The hermit Wisdom stored his opening

mind. | As rolling years matured his age,

ANTISTROPHE.

He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his

sire; While the mild passions in his breast

assuage The fiercer flames of his maternal fire.

ANTISTROPHE. Accomplish'd thus, he wing'd his way, And zealous roved from pole to pole, The rolls of right eternal to display, And warm with patriot thoughts the as

piring soul. On desert isles 'twas he that raised Those spires that gild the Adriatic

wave, Where tyranny beheld amazed Fair freedom's temple, where he mark'd

Those sculptur'd halls my feet shall

never tread, Where varnish'd vice and vanity com

bined, To dazzle and seduce, their banners

spread, And forge vile shackles for the free

born mind; While insolence his wrinkled front up

rears, And all the flowers of spurious fancy

blow; And title his ill-woven chaplet wears, Full often wreathed around the mis.

creant's brow: Where ever-dimpling falsehood, pert

and vain, Presents her cup of stale profession's

froth; And pale disease, with all his bloated

train, Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth.

her grave.

He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms
To burst the Iberian's double chain;
And cities rear'd, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide

domain.
He with the generous rustics sate,
On Uri's rocks in close divan;
And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertaind the sacred rights of

STROPHE.

man.

STROPHE.

Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd,
Where blasted nature pants supine,
Conductor of her tribes adust,
To freedom's adamantine shrine;
And many a Tartar horde forlorn,

aghast ! He snatch'd from under fell oppres

sion's wing, And taught amidst the dreary waste The all-cheering hymns of liberty to

sing. He virtue finds, like precious ore, Diffused through every baser mould; Even now he stands on Calvi's rocky

shore, And turns the dross of Corsica to gold : He, guardian genius, taught my youth Pomp's tinsel livery to despise: My lips by him chastised to truth, Ne'er paid that homage which my heart

denies.

In fortune's car behold that minion ride, With either India's glittering spoils op

prest; So moves the sumpter-mule, in harness'd

pride, That bears the treasure which he cannot

taste. For him let venal bards disgrace the

bay, And hireling minstrels wake the tink

ling string; Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure

lay; And jingling bells fantastic folly ring; Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall inter

vene; And nature, still to all her feelings just, In vengeance hang a damp on every

scene, Shook from the baleful pinions of dis

gust.

ANTISTROPHE.

Nature I'll court in her sequester'd

haunts,

wave

By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, I envied not the happiest swain or cell,

That ever trod the Arcadian plain. Where the poised lark his evening ditty Pure stream, in whose transparent

chaunts, And health, and peace, and contempla- | My youthful limbs I wont to lave; tion dwell.

No torrents stain thy limpid source, There study shall with solitude recline; No rocks impede thy dimpling course, And friendship pledge me to his fellow- That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, swains;

With white round polish'd pebbles And toil and temperance sedately twine spread; The slender cord that fluttering life sus- While, lightly poised, the scaly brood tains:

In myriads cleave thy crystal flood; And fearless poverty shall guard the The springing trout in speckled pride, door;

The salmon, monarch of the tide; And taste unspoil'd the frugal table The ruthless pike, intent on war, spread;

The silver eel, and mottled par. And industry supply the humble store; Devolving from thy parent lake, And sleep unbribed his dews refreshing A charming maze thy waters make, shed;

By bowers of birch and groves of White-mantled innocence, ethereal pine, sprite,

And hedges flower'd with eglantine. Shall chase far off the goblins of the Still on thy banks so gaily green, night;

May numerous herds and flocks be
And Independence o'er the day preside,
Propitious power! my patron and my And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
pride.

And shepherds piping in the dale;
And ancient faith that knows no guile,

And industry embrown'd with toil;
ODE TO LEVEN WATER. And hearts resolved and hands pre-
ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,

pared And tune the rural pipe to love,

The blessings they enjoy to guard !

seen:

MARK AKENSIDE.

1721-1770. [BORN November 9, 1721; studied medicine at Edinburgh and Leyden; practised as a physician at Northampton; received from his friend Jeremiah Dyson an annual allowance of £300; removed to London, 1748; appointed one of the Physicians to the Queen; wrote various medical tracts and lectures; died June 23, 1770. The Pleasures of Imagination was published in January, 1744; Odes on Several Subjects, 1745.. The unfinished recast of The Pleasures of Imagination appeared after Akenside's death in his Poems, 1772.] THE MINGLED PAIN AND PLEAS

By vexing Fortune and intrusive Pain, URE ARISING FROM VIRTU

Should never be divided from her chaste, OUS EMOTIONS.

Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I

urge [From Pleasures of the Imagination.]

Thy tardy thought through all the variBEHOLD the ways

ous round Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man, Of this existence, that thy soft'ning soul For ever just, benevolent, and wise: At length may learn what energy the That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pur- hand sued

Of Virtue mingles in the bitter tide

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