The shrill bat flutters by; from yon dark tower The shrieking owlct hails the shadowy hour;

Hoarse hums the beetle as he drones along, The hour of love is flown! thy full-fledg'd brood No longer need thy care to cull their food,

And nothing now remains to prompt the song: But drear and sullen seems the silent grove, No more responsive to the lay of love.

As slow and solemn yonder deepening knell

Tolls through the sullen evening's shadowy gloom,

Aloue and pensive, in my silent room,
On man and on mortality I dwell.
And as the harbinger of death I hear

Frequent and full, much do I love to muse
On life's distemper'd scenes of hope and fear;

And passion varying her camelion hues, And man pursuing pleasure's empty shade,

Till death dissolves the vision. So the child

In youtli's gay morn with wondering pleasure smild, As with the shining ice well-pleas'd he play'd ; Nor, as he grasps the crystal in his play, lleeds how the faithless bauble mells away.





llence, busy torturer, wherefore should mine eye

Revert again to many a sorrow past? Hence, busy torturer, to the happy tly,

Those who have never seen the sun o'ercast By one dark cloud, thy retrospective beam,

Serene and soft, may on their bosoms gleam, As the last splendour of the summer sky.

Let them look back on pleasure, ere they know To mourn its absence ; let them contemplate The thorny windings of our mortal state,

Ere unexpected bursts the cloud of woe;

Stream not on me thy torch's baneful glow,
Like the sepulchral lamp's funereal gloom,
Io darkness glimmering to disclose a tomb.

My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright,

Nor smoke nor ashes soil thy grateful tlame; Thy temperate splendour cheers the gloom of night,

Thy genial heat enlivens the child frame.
I love to muse me o'er the evening hearth,

I love to pause in meditation's sway;
And whilst each object gives reflection birth,

Mark thy brisk rise, and see thy slow decay:
And I would wish, like thee, to shine serene,

Like thce, within mine influence, all to cheer ; And wish at last, in life's declining scene,

As I had beam'd as bright, to fade as clear: So might my children ponder o'er my shrine, And o'er my ashes muse, as I will muse over thjne.


The circumstance on which the following Ballad is founded, bappened not many years ago in Bristol.

Tue Traveller's hands were white with cold,

The Traveller's lips were blue, Oh! glad was he when the village church

So near was seen in view!



UNGRATEFUL he who pluckt thee from thy stalk,

Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless way, Johald awhile thine odours on his walk,

Then past along, and left thee to decay. Thou melancholy emblem! had I seen

Thy modest beauties dew'd with evening's gem, I had not rudely cropt thy parent stem,

But left thy blossom still to grace the green, And now I bend me o'er thy wither'd bloom,

And drop the tear, as Fancy, at my side Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Emma's tomb; « Like thine, sad flower! was that poor wanderer's

pride! O, lost to love and truth! whose selfish joy Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy.»

He hasten'd to the village Jon,

That stood the church-door nigh, There sat a woman on a grave,

And he could not pass hier by. Her feet were bare, and on her breast

'Through rags did the winter blow, She sate with her face towards the wind,

And the grave was cover'd with snow. Is there never a Christian in the place,

To her the Traveller cried, Who will let thee, this cold winter time,

Sit by his fire-side? I have fire in my head, she answered him,

I have fire in my heart also ; And there will be no winter time

In the place where I must go!
A curse upon thee, man,

For inocking me! she said ;
And he saw the woman's eyes, like one

In a fever-fit, were red.
And when he to the inn-door came,

And the host his greeting gave,
He ask'd who that mad woman was

Who sate upon the grave.



Sad songstress of the night, no more I hear
Thy soften'd warblings meet my pensive ear,

As by thy wonted haunts again I rove;
Why art thou silent? wherefore sleeps thy lay?
For faintly fades the sinking orb of day,

And yet thy music charms no more the grove.

God in his mercy, quoth the host,

Forgive her for her sin; For heavy is her crime, and strange

Her punishment hath been. She was so pale and meagre-ey'd,

As scarcely to be known, When to her mother she return'd

From service in the town,

Pig! 't is your master's pleasure-then be still,

And hold your nose to let the iron through! Dare you resist

your lawful Sovereign's will? Rebellious Swine! you know not what you do! To man o'er beast the power was given;

Pig, hear the truth, and never murmur more! Would you rebel against the will of Heaven?

You impious beast, be still, and let them bore! The social Pig resigns his natural rights

When first with man he covenants to live; He barters them for safer stye delights,

For grains and wash, which man alone can give. Sure is provision on the social plan,

Secure the comforts that to each belong:
Oh, bappy Swine! the impartial sway of man

Alike protects the weak Pig and the strony.

She seldom spoke, she never smild,

What aild her no one knew, But every day more meagre-pale

And sullen sad she grew.

It was upon last Christmas eve,

As we sat round the hearth, And every soul but Martha's

Was full of Christmas mirth.

your nose!

She sat, and look'd upon the fire

Thal then so fiercely slone, She look into it earnestly,

And we heard a stitled groan.

And you resist! you strucgle now because

Your master has thought fit to bore You grunt in flat rebellion to the laws

Society finds needful to impose !

Go to the forest, Piccy, and deplore
The miserable lot of

savage Swine! See how the young Pigs fly from the great Boar,

And see how coarse and scantily they dine!

And she shook like a dying wretch

In a convulsive fit; And

up she rose, and in the snows,

Went out on a grave to sit. We follow'd her, and to the room

Besought her to return;
She groan'd and said, that in the fire,

She saw her Baby burn.
And in her dreadful madness then

To light her murder came,
How secretly from every eye

Nine months she lid her shame;

Behold their hourly danger, when who will

May hunt or spare or seize them for bis food! Oh, happy Pig! whom none presumes to kill

Till your protecting master thinks it good! And when, at last, the closing hour of life

Arrives (for Pigs must die as well as Man), When in your throat you feel the long sharp knife,

And the blood trickles to the pudding-pan; And when, at last, the death wound yawning wide,

Fainter and fainter grows the expiring cry, Is there no grateful joy,“no loyal pride,

To think that for your master's good you die?

And how she slew the wretched babe

Just as he sprung to light,
Aud in the midnight fire consum'd

His little body quite.
Would I could feel the winter wind,

Would I could feel the snow !
I have fire in my head, poor Martha cried,

I have fire in my heart also.
So there from morn till night she sits-

Now God forgive her sin!
For heavy is her crime, and strange

Her punishment hath been.




toll on,



Hark! liark! that Pig-that Pig! the hideous note,

More loud, more dissonant, each moment growsWould one not think the knife was in his throat?

And yet they are only boring through his nose.

TOLL on,

old Bell ! I'll neither pray Nor sleep away the hour. The fire burns bright, And, bless the maker of this great-arm'd chair, This is the throne of comfort ! I will sit And study most devoutly: not my Euclid, For God forbid that I should discompose That spider's excellent geometry! I'll study thee, Puss: not to make a pictureI hate your canvas cats and dogs and fools, Themes that pollute the pencil! let me see The Patriot's actions start again to life, And I will bless the artist who awakes The throb of emulation. Thou shalt give, A belter lesson Puss! come look at me. Lift up thine emerald eyes! aye, purr away, For I am praising thee, I tell thee, Puss,

You foolish beast, so rudely to withstand

Your master's will, to feel such idle fears! Why, Pig, there's not a Lady in the land

Who has not also bor'd and ring'd her ears.

And Cats as well as Kings love fattery.

Dim shadows circle round her secret seat, For three whole days I heard an old Fur Gown Where wandering, who approach shall hear Beprais'd, that made a Duke a Chancellor:

The wild wolf rend ihe air; Trust me, though I can sing most pleasantly

Through the cloudy-mantled sky Upon thy well-streak'd coat, to that said Fur

Shall see the imps of darkness fly, I was not guilly of a single rhyme!

And hear the sad scream from the grim retreat: 'T was an old turncoat Fur, that would sit easy

Around her throne And wrap round any man, so it were tied

Ten thousand dangers lurk, most fearful, most unknown. With a blue riband. What a magic lies

Yet lovelier oft in milder sway, In beauty! thou on this forbidden ground

She wends abroad her magic way; Mayest range, aud wlien the Fellow looks at thee

The holy prelate owns her power; Straight he forgets the statute. Swell thy tail

In soft'ning tale relates And stretch thy claws, most Democratic beast,

The snowy Ethiop's matchless charms, I like thine independence! Treat thee well,

The outlaw's den, the clang of arms, Thou art as playful as young Innocence;

And love's 100-varying fates; But if we play the Governor, and break

The storms of persecution lower, The social compact, God has given thee claws,

Austere devotion gives the stern command, And thou hast sense to use them. Oh! that Man

« Commit yon impious legend to the fires;» Would copy this thy wisdom! spaniel fool,

Calm in his conscious worth, the sage retires, He crouches down and licks his tyrant's hand,

And savo

the invalu'd work, and quits tlie akless And courts oppression. Wiser animal,

Jand; I gaze on thee, familiar not enslaved,

High tow'rs his name the sacred list above, And thinking how affection's gentle hand

And ev'n the priest' is prais'd who wrote of blameless Leads by a hair the large limb'd Elephant,

love. With mingled pity and contempt behold His drivers coad the patient biped beast.

Around the tower, whose wall infolds

Young Thora's blooming charms,

Romance's serpent winds bis glittering folds; ROMANCE.

The warrior clasps his sbagay arms,

The monster falls, the damsel is the spoil,
What wildly-beauteous form,

Matchless reward of Regner's ? matchless toil.
High on the summit of you bicrown'd hill,
Lovely in horror, takes her dauntless stand ?

Around the patriot board, Though speeds the thunder there its deep'ning way, The knights 3 altend their lord; Though round her liead the lightnings play,

The martial sieges hov'ring o'er,
Undaunted she abides the storm;

Enrapt the genius views the dauntless band;
She waves her magic wand,

Sull prompt for innocence to figlit,
The clouds retire, the storm is still;

Or quell the pride of proud oppression's might,
Bright beams the sun unwonted light around, They rusli intrepid o'er the land;
And many a rising flower bedecks the enchanted ground. She gives them to the minstrel lore,

Hands down her Launcelot's peerless name,
ROMANCE! I know thee now,

Repays ber Tristram's woes with fame;
I know the terrors of thy brow;

Borne on the breath of song,
I know thine aweful micn, thy beaming eye; To future times descends the memory of the tbrong.

And Jo! whilst mists arise around

Yon car that cleaves the pregnant ground, Foremost mid the peers of France 4
Two fiery dragons whirl her through the sky. ORLANDO hurls the death-fraught lance;
Her milder sister loves to rove

Where DURLINDANA aims the blow,
Amid Parnassus' laurell'd

To darkness sioks the faithless foe;
On llelicon's harmonious side,

I he horn with magic sound
To mark the gurgling streamlet glide;

Spreads deep dismay around;
Meantime, through wilder scenes and sterner skies, Unborn to bleed, the chieftain goes,
From clime to clime the ardent genius flies.

And scatters wide his Paynim foes;

The genius hovers o'er the purple plain She speeds to yonder shore, 3

Where OLIVERO tramples on the slain; Where ruthless tempests roar,

BAYARDO speeds bis furious course, Where sturdy winter holds bis northern reign,

High towers Rogero in his matchless force. Nor vernal suns relax the ice-pil'd plain :

Romance the heighten'd tale has caught, The statute that excludes cats, dogs, and all other singing-binds, Forth from the sad monastic cell, from the college precincts. 2. Always encounter petulance with gentleness, and perverseness

Heliodorus chose rather to be deprived of his see than burn his with kindness: a gentl: band will lead the elephant itself by a

Ethiopics. Tbe bishop's name would have slept with his fatbers, bair..- from the Persian Rosary, by Eddin Sadi. Enfield's History the romancer is remembered. of Philosophy.

* First exploit of tbe culebrated Regner Lodbrog. Fictions of Romance, popular in Scandinavia at an early pe

Knights of the round table. drio.

4 The Paladines of France.

Where fiction with devotion loves to dwell,

The blameless warrior comes; he first to wield
The sacred legend' flies with many a wonder fraught; His fateful weapon in the martial field;
Deep roll the papal thunders ? round,

By him crcated on the view,
And everlasting wrath to rebel reason sound.

Arcadia's valleys bloom anew,

And many a flock o'erspreads the plain, llark! Superstition sounds to war's alarms,

And love, with innocence, assumes his reign :
War stalks o'er Palestine with scorching breath, Protected by a warrior's name,
And triumplis in the feast of death;

The kindred warriors live to fame :
All Europe lies to arms :

Sad is the scene, where oft from Pity's eye
Enthusiast courage spreads her piercing sound,

Descends the sorrowing tear,
Devotion caught the cry, and woke the echo around. As high the unheeding chieftain lifts the spear,
Romance3 before the army flies,

And gives the deadly blow, and sees PARTHENIA die! New scenes await her wondering eyes;

Where, where such virtues can we see, Awhile she firms her GODFREY's throne,

Or where such valour, SIDNEY, but in thee? And makes Arabia's magic lore her own.

0, cold of heart, shall pride assail thy shade,

Whom all Romance could fancy nature made?
And hark! resound, in mingled sound,
The clang of arms, the sbriek of death;

Sound, Fame, thy loudest blast,
Each streaming gaslı bedews the ground,

For SPENSER pours the tender strain, And deep and hollow groans load the last struggling And shapes to glowing forms the motley train; ' breath :

The ellin tribes around Wide through the air the arrows fly,

Await his potent sound, Darts, shields, and swords, commix'd appear;

Ando'er his bead Romance her brightest splendours cast. Deep is the cry, when thousands die,

Deep through the air let sorrow's banner wave! When COEUR DE Lion's arm constrains to fear :

For penury o'er Spenser's friendless head Aloft the battle-axe in air

Her chilling mantle spread; Whiris around confus'd despair ;

For Genius cannot save! Nor Acre's walls can check his course;

Virtue bedews the blameless poet's dust; Nor Sarzio millions stay his force.

But fame, exulting, clasps her favourite's laureld bust. Indignant, firm the warrior stood,

Pain would the grateful Muse, to thee, Rousseau, The hungry lion gapes for food;

Pour forth the energic thanks of gratitude; His fearless eye beheld bim nigh,

Fain would the raptur'd lyre ecstatic glow, Unarmd, undaunted, saw the beast proceed :

To whom Romance and Nature form'd all good : Romance, o'erhovering, saw the monster die,

Guide of my life, too weak these lays, And scarce herself believ'd the more than wondrousdeed. To pour the unutterable praise;

Thine aid divine for ever lend, And now, with more terrific mien,

Still as my guardian sprite attend; She quiis the sad degenerate scene;

Unmov'd by Fashion's flaunting throng, With many a talisman of mightiest pow'r,

Let my calm stream of life smooth its meek course along; Borne in a rubied car, sublime she flies,

Let no weak vanity dispense
Fire-breathing criftins waft her through the skies; Her vapours o'er my better sense;
Around her head the innocuous tempest lowers,

But let my bosom glow with fire,
To Gallia's favour'd realm she goes,

Let me strike the soothing lyre,
And quits hier magic state, and plucks her lovely rose. 4 Although by all unheard the melodies expire.

Imagination waves her wizard wand,
Dark shadows mantle o'er the land;
The lightnings flash, the thunders sound,

Convulsive throbs the labouring ground;
What fiends, what monsters, circling round, arise! 5

High towers of fire aloft aspire,
Deep yells resound amid the skies,
Yclad in arms, to Fame's alarms
Her magic warrior flies.

Lo! where the livid lightning flies

With transient furious force,
A moment's splendour streaks the skies,

Where ruin marks its course :
Then see how mild the font of day

Expands the stream of light,
Whilst living by the genial ray,

All nature smiles delight.

By Fiction's shield secure,


many a year O'cr cooler reason held the genius rule; But lo! CERVANTES waves his pointed spear,

Nor Fiction's shield can stay the spear of ridicule.

! Instead of forging the life of a saint, Archbishup Turpin was better employed in falsif ing the history of Charlemagne.

? A bull was issued, commanding all good citizens to believe Ariosto's poem, founded upon Turpin's history,

* Arabian tictions ingrafied on the Gothic romance.
• Ronance of the Rose, written soon after the Crusades.

Early prose Romances, originally Spanish.

So boisterous riot, on his course

Uncurb'd by reason, tlies;
And lightning, like its fatal force,

Soon lightoing-like it dies :
Whilst sober Temperance, still the same,

Shall shuo the scene of strife;
And, like the sun's cnlivening tlame,

Shall beam the lamp of life.
· Fictions of Romance, allegorized by Spenser.

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Friendship is ours : best friend, who knows

Each varied hour to employ;
To share the lighted load of woes,

And double every joy:
And Science too shall lend her aid,

The friend that never flies,
But shines amid misfortune's shade

As stars in midnight skies.

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Chill’d at thy presence grew the stately halls,

Nor longer echo'd to the song of mirth; The hand of art no more adorn'd thy walls,

Nor blaz'd with hospitable fires the hearth. On well-worn hinges turns the gate no more,

Nor social friendship hastes the friend to meet; Nor when the accustom'd guest draws near the door,

Run the glad dogs, and gambol round his feet.
Sullen and stern Avaro sat alone

In anxious wealth amid the joyless hall,
Nor heeds the chilly hearth with moss o'ergrown,

Nor sees the green slime mark the mouldering wall. For desolation o'er the fabric dwells,

And time, on restless pinion, hurried by;
Loud from her chimney'd seat the night-bird yells,

And through the shatter'd roof descends the sky.
Thou melancholy mansion! much mine eye

Delights to wander o'er thy sullen gloom, And mark the daw from yonder turret fly,

And muse how man himself creates lois doom.

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For here bad Justice reign d, had Pity known

With genial power to sway AVARO's breast, These treasur'd heaps which Fortune made his own,

By aiding misery might himself have blest.

Thy tall towers tremble to the touch of time,

The rank weeds rustle in thy spacious courts; Fill'a are thy wide canals with loathly slime,

Where battening, undisturb'd, the foul load sports.

Deep from her dismal dwelling yells the owl,

The shrill bat flits around her dark retreat; And the hoarse daw, when loud the tempests howl,

Screams as the wild winds shake her secret seat.

And Charity had oped her golden store

To work the gracious will of leaven intent, Fed from her superflux the craving poor,

And paid adversity what heaven had lent. Then had thy turrets stood in all their state,

Then had the hand of art adorn'd thy wall, Swift on its well-worn hinges turn'd the gate, And friendly converse checr'd the echoing hall.

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