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EDWIN'S FANCIES AT EVENING.

With instantaneous gleam, illumed the

vault of Night. WHEN the long-sounding curfew from afar

Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch Loaded with loud lament the lonely Arose; the trumpet bids the valves gale,

unfold; Young Edwin, lighted by the evening And forth a host of little warriors march, star,

Grasping the diamond lance, and targe Lingering and listening wander'd

of gold. down the vale.

Their look was gentle, their demeanor There would he dream of graves, and corpses pale;

And green their helms, and green their And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon

silk attire. throng,

And hereandthere, rightvenerablyold, And drag a length of clanking chain,

The long-robed minstrels wake the warband wail,

ling wire, Till silenced by the owl's terrific song,

And some with mellow breath the marOr blast that shrieks by fits the shud

tial pipe inspire. dering aisles along.

With merriment, and song, and timbrels Or when the setting moon, in crimson

clear, died,

A troop of dames from myrtle bowers Hung o'er the dark and melancholy advance : deep,

The little warriors doff the targe and Te haunted stream, remote from man

spear, he hied,

And loud enlivening strains provoke Where Fays of yore their revels wont the dance. to keep;

They meet, they dart away, they wheel And there let Fancy roam at large, till askance sleep

To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze; A vision brought to his entranced sight. Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, And first, a wildly-murmuring wind

then glance 'gan creep

Rapid along; with many-color'd rays Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing bright,

forests blaze.

THOMAS CHATTERTON.

1752-1770. [Born at Bristol, 1752. Son of a sexton and parish schoolmaster, and died by suicide before he had completed his eighteenth year, London, 1770. In this brief interval he gave proof of powers unsurpassed in one so young, and executed a number of forgeries almost without parallel for ingenuity and variety. His avowed compositions are very inferior to the forgeries, a fact that Scott explains by supposing that in the forgeries all his powers must have been taxed to the utmost to support the deception.]

ON RESIGNATION.
O GOD, whose thunder shakes the sky, The mystic mazes of thy will,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys, The shadows of celestial light,
To thee, my only rock, I fly,

Are past the powers of human skill; Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

But what the Eternal acts is right,

O teach me in the trying hour,

But, ah! my breast is human still;
When anguish swells the dewy tear, The rising sigh, the falling tear,
To still my sorrows, own thy power, My languid vitals' feeble rill,
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear. The sickness of my soul declare.
If in this bosom aught but thee,

But yet, with fortitude resign'd, Encroaching sought a boundless sway, I'll thank the infliction of the blow, Omniscience could the danger see, Forbid the sigh, compose my mind And mercy look the cause away. Nor let the gush of misery flow. Then, why, my soul, dost thou complain? | The gloomy mantle of the night, Why drooping seek the dark recess? Which on my sinking spirit steals, Shake off the melancholy chain,

Will vanish at the morning light, For God created all to bless.

Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals.

MRS. BARBAULD.

1743–1825. [ANNA LÆTITIA AIKIN, was born at Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, 1743. Published Poems, 1773; Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose by 7. and A. L. Aikin, 1773. Married Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, 1774. Published Poetical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce, 1791; Hymns in Prose for Little Children, 1811. Died at Stoke Newington, March

9, 1825.]

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And feed the flowering osier's early

shoots;
And call those winds which through the

whispering boughs
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.

rove

Now let me sit beneath the whitening

LIFE. thorn And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er

Animula, vagula, blandula." the dale,

LIFE! I know not what thou art, And watch with patient eye

But know that thou and I must part; Thy fair unfolding charms.

And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me's a secret yet.

But this I know, when thou art fled O nymph, approach! while yet the

Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, temperate sun

No clod so valueless shall be With bashful forehead through the cool As all that then remains of me. moist air

O whither, whither dost thou fly, Throws his young maiden beams, Where bend unseen thy trackless course, And with chaste kisses woos

And in this strange divorce,

Ah, tell where I must seek this comThe earth's fair bosom; while the

pound I? streaming veil Of lucid clouds with wind and frequent To the vast ocean of empyreal flame shade

From whence thy essence came Protects thy modest blooms

Dost thou thy Aight pursue, when From his severer blaze.

freed From matter's base encumbering

weed? Sweet is thy reign, but short:— the red

Or dost thou, hid from sight, dog-star

Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's Through blank oblivious years the apscythe

pointed hour Thy greens, thy flowerets all

To break thy trance and reassume thy Remorseless shall destroy.

power? Yet canst thou without thought or feel

ing be? Reluctant shall I bid thee then fare- O say what art thou when no more thou’rt well:

thee? For O not all that Autumn's lap contains,

Life! we've been long together, Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits,

Through pleasant and through cloudy Can aught for thee atone,

weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are

dear; Fair Spring! whose simplest promise Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; more delights

Then steal away, give little warning, Than all their largest wealth, and through Choose thine own time; the heart

Say not Good night, but in some brighter Each joy and new-born hope

clime With softest influence breathes.

Bid me Good morning.

SIR WILLIAM JONES.

1746–1794.

(An Indian judge and learned oriental writer. Born in London in 1746, and died at Calcutta, 1794. In 1764 entered University College, Oxford, where he made great acquirements in oriental languages and literature; in 1783 appointed a judge in the Supreme Court of Calcutta, where he attained to great distinction, and gained the admiration of the most learned men in India; in 1799 his works were collected and published in six volumes, and his life by Lord Teignmouth in one volume in 1804.]

No more shall Freedom smile? Shall Britons languish, and be men no

more?

Since all must life resign,
Those sweet rewards, which decorate

the brave,

'Tis folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

A PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.

SWEET maid, if thou would'st charm my

sight,
And bid these arms thy neck enfold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.

AN ODE, IN IMITATION OF

ALCÆUS.
What constitutes a state?
Not high-raised battlement or labor'd

mound,

Thick wall or moated gate;
Not cities proud with spires and turrets

crown'd;

Not bays and broad-arm’d ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies

ride;

Not starr'd and spangled courts, Where low-brow'd baseness wafts per

fume to pride.

No: men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes

endured

In forest, brake, or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles

rude;

Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and, knowing,

dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aim'd blow,
And crush the tyrant while they rend

the chain :

These constitute a state,
And sovereign Law, that state's collected

will,

O’er thrones and globes elate
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing

ill;

Smit by her sacred frown,
The fiend Discretion like a vapor sinks,

And e’en the all-dazzling Crown
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding

shrinks.

Such was this heaven-loved isle, Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan

shore !

Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots say:
Tell them, their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.

0! when these fair perfidious maids
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display,
Each glance my tender breast invades
And robs my wounded soul of rest,
As Tartars seize their destined prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow :
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art?

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