122 ORLANDO AND ADAM. That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, Milton. ORLANDO AND ADAM. Orlan. WHO's there? Adam. What! my young master? O, my gentle master! O, my sweet master-O, you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? The bony priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master, O, what a world is this, when what is comely Orlan. Why, what's the matter? O, unhappy youth, *Rathe, early; hence the comparative, rather, which, in its iginal sense, signifies sooner. ORLANDO AND ADAM. Come not within these doors; within this roof Your brother-no, no brother; yet the son- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him, and his practices. This is no place; this house is but a butchery; 123 Orlan. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orlan. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish living on the common road? I rather will subject me to the malice Adam. But do not so; I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under Which I did store to be your father, my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame, Frosty, but kindly let me go with you; Orlan. O, good old man; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, Shakspeare. THE HERMIT. Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, While his heart rung symphonious, a hermit began; No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man: THE HERMIT. "Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe, 125 Mourn, sweetest complainer, Man calls thee to mourn; O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass-but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, The moon, half-extinguish'd, her crescent displays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again: But man's faded glory what change shall renew! Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain! “”Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save: ""Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, 'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, เ Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee; Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.' "And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. 126 THE WINTRY SMILE OF SORROW. So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb!" Beattie. THE WINTRY SMILE OF SORROW. As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be ting'd with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay Moore. THE SWEET VALE OF AVOCA. THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet |