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And you, Boscawen, while you fondly. She does not feel thy pow'r who boasts melt,

I thy flame, lo raptures none but mothers ever felt; And rounds herevery period with thy name; And as you view, prophetic, in your race, Nor she who vents her disproportion'd sighs Al Levison's sweetness, and all Beaufort's With pining Lesbia when her sparrow dics: grace ;

Nor she who melts when hapless Shore exYet dread what dangers each lov'd child pires, may share,

While real mis'ry unreliev'd retires ! The youth, if valiant, or the maid, if fair; | Who thinks feign'd sorrow all her tears deYou who have felt, so frail is mortal joy!

serve, That, while we clasp the phantom, we de- And weeps o'er Werter while her children stroy ;

starve, That perils multiply as blessings flow, As words are but th' external marks to That sorrows grafted on enjoyments grow ; That clouds impending dim our brightest The fair ideas in the mind that dwell; views,

And only are of things the outward sign, That who have most to love have most to And not the things themselves they but delose;

fine ; Yet from these fair possessions would you So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears, part,

And all the graceful drapery Feeling wears; To shelter from contingent ills your heart? | These are her garb, not her, they but exWould you forego the objects of your prayer press To save the dangers of a distant care? Her form, her semblance, her appropriate Renounce the brightness op'ning to your dress; view

And these fair marks, reluctant I relate, For all the safety dulness ever knew? These lovely symbols may be counterfeit. Would you consent, to shun the fears you | There are, who fill with brilliant plaints the

page, That they should merit less, or you less love; If a poor linnet meet the gunner's rage;

Yet while we claim the sympathy divine, There are, who for a dying fawn deplore, Which makes, I man, the woes of others As if friend, parent, country, were no more; thine;

Who boast quick rapture trembling in their While her fair triumphs swell the modish eye, - Page,

If from the spider's snare they snatch a fly; She drives the sterner virtues from the stage: There are, whose well sung plaints each While Feeling boasts her ever tearful eye, breast inflame, Fair Truth, firm Faith, and manly Justice And break all hearts—but his from whom fly :

they came ! Justice, prime good! from whose prolific He, scorning life's low duties to attend,

| Writes odes on friendship, while he cheats All worth, all virtue, their strong essence | I his friend, draw;

Of jails and punishments he grieves to hear, Justice, a grace quite obsolete we hold, And pensions 'prison'd virtue with a tear; The feign'd Astrea of an age of gold : While unpaid bills his creditor presents, The sterling attribute we scarcely own, And ruin'd innocence his crime laments, While spurious Candour fills the vacant Not so the tender moralist of Tweed, throne.

His gen'rous man of feeling feels indeed. Sweet Sensibility! Thou secret pow'r T O Love divine ! sole source of charity ! Who shed'st thy gifts upon the natal hour, More dear one genuine deed perform'c for Like tairy favours ; Art can never seize,

thee, Nor Affectation catch thy power to please;| Than all the periods Feeling e'er could turn, Thy subtile essence still eludes the chains Than all thy touching page, perverted Of Definition, and defeats her pains.

Sterne ! Sweet Sensibility ! thou keen delight! Not that by deeds alone this love's exL'oprompted inoral ! sudden sense of right!! press'd, Perception exquisite ! fair Virtue's seed! If so the affluent only were the bless'd; Thou quick precursor of the lib'ral deed! One silent wish, one prayer, one soothing Thou hasty conscience ! reason's blushing word, morn!

The page of mercy shall, well-plcas'd reInstinctive kindness e'er reflection's born! cord; Prompt scase of equity! to thee belongs One soul-felt sigh by pow'rless pity given, The swift redress of unexamin's wrongs! | Accepted incense ! shall ascend to heav'n ! Eager to serve, the cause perhaps untried, 1. Since trifles make the sum of human But always apt to chuse the suff'ring side! things, To those who know thee not, no word; can And half our misery from our foibles springs, paint,

Since life's best joys consist in peace and And those who know thee, know all words ease,

(please ; are faint !

| And though but few can serve, yet all may

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() let th'ungentle spirit learn from hence, But to divert it to its proper course,

A small unkindness is a great offence. There wisdom's pow'r appears, there rea, To spread large bounties, though we wish in son's force : vain,

If ill-directed it pursue the wrong, Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain : It adds new strength to what before was | To bless mankind with tiues of Howing strong; wealth,

Breaks out in wild irregular desires, With rank to grace them, or to crown with Disorder'd passions, and illicit fires; health,

Without, deforms the man, depraves within, Our little lot denies; yet lib'ral still, And makes the work of God the slave of Heav'n gives its counterpoise to every ill, Nor let us murmur at our stinted pow’rs, But if Religion's bias rule the soul, When kindness, love, and concord, may be Then Sensibility exalts the whole; ours.

Sheds its sweet sunshine on the moral part, The gift of minist'ring to other's ease, Nor wastes on fancy what should warm the To all her sons impartial she decrees;

heart. . The gentle offices of patient love,

I Cold and inert the mental powers would lie, Beyond all flattery, and all price above; Without this quick’ning spark of Deity. : The mild forbearance at a brother's fault, Tomelt the rich materials from the mine, The angry word suppress'd, the taunting To bid the mass of intellect refine, thought;

To bend the firm, to animate the cold, Subduing and subdu'd, the petty strife, And heav'ns own image stamp on Nature's Which clouds the colour of domestic life; 1 gold; The sober comfort, all the peace which | To give immortal mind its finest tone, springs,

Oh, Sensibility! is all thy own. From the large aggregate of little things; This is th' eternal flame which lights and On these small cares of daughter, wife, or warms, friend,

In song enchants us, and in action charms, The almost sacred joys of home depend : l’Tis this that makes the pensive strains of There Sensibility, thou best may'st reign, Gray* Home is thy true legitimate domain. Win to the open heart their easy way ; A solitary bliss thou ne'er could'st find, Makes the touch'd spirit glow with kindred Thy joy's with those thou lov’st are inter fire, twin'd;

| When sweet Serena's poet wakes the lyre : And he whose helpless tenderness removes | Makes Portland's face its brightest rapture Therankling thorn which wounds the breast wear, he loves,

When her large bounty smooths the bed of Smooths not another's rugged path alone, care: But clears th’ obstruction which impedes his / 'Tis this that breathes through Sevigne's own.

fair page, The hint malevolent, the look oblique, | That nameless grace which sooths a second The obvious satire, or implied dislike;

age; The sneer equivocal, the harsh reply, 'Tis this, whose charm the soul resistless And all the cruel language of the eye;

seize, The ariful injury, whose venom’d dart, And gives Boscawen half her pow'r to Scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs! please. the heart;

Yet why those terrors ? Why that anxious The guarded phrase, whose meaning kills, care ? yet told

Since your last hopet the deathful war will The list'ner wonders, how you thought it dáre ? cold;

Why dread that energy of soul which leads Small slights, neglect, unmix'd perhaps. To dang'rous glory by heroic deeds? with hate,

Why mourn to view bis ardent soul aspire ? Make up in number what they want in F'ou fear the son because you knew the sire. weight.

Hereditary valeur you deplore, These and a thousand grief minute asthese, Indicireali, yet wisli to find one hero more. Corrode our comfort and destroy our case, As Feeling tends to good or leans to ill, "This is meant of the Elegy in a Country Church It gives fresh force to vice or principle; yard, of which exquisite poem Sensibility is perhaps "Tis not a gifi peculiar to the good,

the characteristic beauty. 'Tis often but the virtue of the blood :

+ Viscount Falmouth, admiral Boscaten's only reAnd what would seem compassion's moral maining sun was then in America, and at the batile of flow,

Lexingíon. Is but a circulation swift or slow :

SIR ELDRED OF THE BOWER.

A LEGENDARY TALE,

IN TWO PARTS.

of them who, wrapt in earth so cold,

No more the smiling day shall view,
Should many a tender tale be told,
For many a tender thought is due.-- Langhorne.

PART 1.
O nostra Vita, ch'e si bella in vista!
Com'perde agevolmente in un momento,
Quel, ch'en molti anni a grand pena s'acquista.- Petrarca.

THERE was a young and valiant knight, To fan the fragrant morn,
Sir ELDRED was his name,

| The sighing breezes softly stray And never did a worthier wight

O er fields of ripen'd corn; The rank of knighthood chim.

Sudden the lightning's blast descends, Where gliding Tay, her stream sends forth, Deforms the ravag'd fields; To feed the neighbouring wool,

At once the various ruin blends, The ancient glory of the north,

And all resistless vields.
Sir Eldred's castle stood.

But when, to clear his stormy breast,
The night was rich as knight might be The sun of reason shone,
In patrimonial wealth ;

And ebbing passions sunk to rest,
And rich in nature's gift was he,

And show'd what rage had done : In south, and strength, and health. O then what anguish he betray'i ! He did not think, as some have thought, His shame how deep, how true! Whom honour never crown'i,

He view'd the waste his rage had made, The fame a father dearly bought,

And shudder'd at the view. Could make the son renown'd.

The meek-ey'd dawn, in saffron robe, He better thought, a noble sire,

Proclaim'd the op'ning day, Who gallant deeds had done,

L'p rose the sun to gild the globe, To deeds of hardihocd should fire

And hail the new-born May; A brare and gallant son.

The birds their vernal notes repeat, The fairest ancestry on earth

And glad the thick’ning grave; Without desert is poor';

And feather'd partners fondly greet And ev'ry deed of former worth

With many a song of love: Is but a claim for more.

When pious Eldred early rose Sir Eldred's heart was ever kind,

The Lord of all to hail; Alive to pity's call;

Who life with all its gifts bestows, A crowd of virtues grac'd his mind,

Whose mercies never fail ! He lov'd and felt for all.

That done he left his woodland glade, When merit rais'd the sufferer's name, And journey'd far away ; He show'r'd his bounty then;

He lov'd to court the distant shade, And those who could not prove that claim, And through the lone vale stray. He succour'd still as men.

Within the bosom of a wood, But sacred truth the muse compels

By circling hills embrac'd, His errors to impart;

A little, modest mansion stood, And yet the muse reluctant tells

Built by the hand of taste ; The fault of Eldred's heart.

While many a prouder castle fell, Though mild and soft as infant love

'This safely did endure; His fond affections melt;

The house where guardian virtues dwell Though all that kindest spirits prove

Is sacred and secure. Sir Eldred keenly felt:

Of eglantine an humble fence Yet if the passions storm'd his soul,

Around the mansion stood, By jealousy led on;

Which serv'd at once to charm the sense, The fierce resentment scorn'd control,

And screen an infant wood. And bore his virtues down,

The wood receiv'd an added grace, Not Thule's waves so widely break

As pleas'd it bent to look, To drown the northern shore;

And view'd its ever verdant face Not Etna's entrails fiercer shake,

Reflected in a brook : Or Scythia's tempest roar.

The smallness of the stream did well As when in summer's sweetest day

The master's fortunes show;

But little streams may serve to tell | And bless me most by blessing him,
The source from they flow.

| Whom more than life I love.' This mansion own’d an aged knight, She starts to hear a stranger's voice, And such a man was he,

And with a modest grace,
As heaven just shows to human sight, She lifts her meek eye in surprise,
To tell what man should be.

And sees a stranger's face :
His youth in many a well-fought field | The stranger lost in transport stood,
Was train'd betimes to war :

Bereft of voice and power,
His bosom, like a well-worn shield, While she with equal wonder view'd
Was grac'd with many a scar.

Sir Eldred of the bower,
The vigour of a green old age

The virgin blush which spreads her cheek His reverend form did bear;

With nature's purest dve, And yet, alas! the warrior-sage

And all those dazzling beams which break Had drain’d the dregs of care :

Like morning from her eye-
And sorrow more than age can break, He view'd them all, and as he view'd
And wound its hapless prey,

Drank deeply of delight;
'Twas sorrow furrow'd his firm cheek, And still his raptur'd eye pursued,
And turn’d his bright locks gray.

And feasted on the sight.
One darling daughter sooth'd his cares, With silent wonder long they gaz'd
A young and beauteous dame,

And neither silence broke;
Sole comfort of his failing years,

At length the smother'd passion blaz'd, And Birtha was her name.

Enamour'd Eldred spoke : Her heart a little sacred shrine,

() sacred virtue, heav’nly power! Where all the Virtues meet,

Thy wond'rous force 1 feel : And holy Hope and Faith divine

I gaze, I tremble, I adore,
Had claim'd it for their seat.

Yet die my love to tell
She lov'd to raise her fragrant bower My scorn has oft the dart repellid
Of wild and rustic taste,

Which guileful beauty threw;
And there she screen'd each fav'rite flower But goodness heard, and grace beheld,
From ev'ry ruder blast;

Most every heart subdue,' And not a shrub or plant was there Quick on the ground her eyes were cast, But did some moral yield;

And now as quickly rais'd :For wisdom, by a father's care,

Just then her father hap’ly past, Was found in ev'ry field.

| On whom she trembling gaz'd. The trees, whose foliage fell away, Good Ardolph's eye his Bertha meets And with the summer died,

With glances of delight; He thought an image of decay

And thus with courteous speech he greets Might lecture human pride :

The young and graceful knight.
While fair perennial greeps that stood, O gallant youth, whoe'er thou art,
And brav'd the wintry blast,

Right welcome to this place!
As types of the fair mind be view'd, There's something rises at my heart
Which shall for ever last.

Which says I've seen that face,
He taught her that the gaudiest flowers • Thou gen'rous knight,' the youth rejoin'd,
Were seldein fragrant found,

• Though little known to fame, But wasted soon their little powers, I trust I bear a grateful mindDropt useless on the ground :

Sir Eldred is my name.' While the sweet-scented rose shall last, Sir Eldred ?'-Ardolph loud exclaim'd And still retain its power,

Renown'd for worth and power ? When life's imperfect day is past

For valour and for virtue fam'd, And beauty's shorter hour.

| Sir Eldred of the bower? And here the virgin lov'd to lead

Now make me grateful, righteous heaven, Her inoffensive day,

As thou art good to me, And here she oft retir'd to read,

Since to my aged eyes 'tis given And oft retir'd to pray.

Sir Eldred's son to see! Embower'd, she grac'd the woodland shades, Then Ardolph caught him by the hand, From courts and cities far,

And gaz'd upon his face, The pride of Caledonian maids,

And to his aged bosom strain’d,
The peerless northern star.

With many a kind embrace.
As shines that bright and lucid star, Again he view'd him o'er and o'er,
The glory of the night,

And doubted still the truth,
When beaming through the cloudless air, And ask'd what he had ask'd before,
She sheds her silver light :

Then thus addresst the youth :
So Birtha shone !- But when she spoke Come now beneath my roof, I pray,
The muse herself was heard,

Some needful rest to take,
As on the ravish'd air she broke,

And with us many a cheerful day, And thus her prayer preferr'd :

Thy friendly sojourn make !; O bless thy Birtha, Power Supreme,

He enter'd at the gate straightway, In whom I live and move,

Some needful rest to take;

And with them many a cheerful day But soon compos'd, with manly grace,
Did friendly sojourn make,

He thus renew'd his tale :

For him my heart too much has bled ; PART II.

Has sorrow press'd my hoary head; Once-in a social summer's walk,

But heav'n's high will be done !!
The gaudy day was fed ;

Scarce eighteen winter's had revolv'd,
They cheated time with cheerful talk, To crown the circling year,
When thus Sir Ardolph said :

Before my valiant boy resolv'd
Thy father was the firmest friend

The warrior's lance to bear. That e'er my being blest;

Too high I priz'd my native land, And every virtue heaven could send,

Too dear his fame I held, Fast bound him to my breast,

T'oppose a parent's stern command, Together did we learn to bear

And keep him from the field. The casque and ample shield;

He left me left his sister too, Together learn in many a war

Yet tears bedew'd his faceThe deathful spear to wield.

What could a feeble old man do? To make our union still more dear,

He burst from my embrace. We both were doom'd to prove,

( thirst of glory, fátal flame! " What is most sweet and most severe

O laurels dearly bought ! In heart dissolving love,

Yet sweet is death when earn'd with fame The daughter of a neighbouring knight | So virtuous Edwy thought. Did my fond heart engage;

Full manfully the brave boy strove, And ne'er did heaven the virtues write Though pressing ranks oppose ; Upon a fairer page,

But weak the strongest arm must prove His bosom felt an equal wound,

Against an host of foes, Nor sigh'd we long in vain ;

A deadly wound my son receives, One summer's sun beheld us bound

A spear assails his side : In Hymen's holy chain.

Grief does not kill for Ardolph lives Thou wast Sir ELDRED's only child,

To tell that Edwy died. Thy father's darling joy ;

His long-lov'd mother died again On me a lovely daughter smild

In Edwy's parting groan;
On me a blooming boy.

I wept for her, yet wept in vain-
But man has woes, has clouds of care, I wept for both in one.
That dim his star of life-

I would have died- I sought to die,
Mv arms receiv'd the little pair,

But heaven restrain’d the thought, The earth's cold breast, my wife.

And to my passion-clouded eye Forgive, thou gentle knight, forgive,

My helpless Birtha brought.
Fond foolish tears will flow;

When lo ! array'd in robes of light,
One day like mine thy heart may heave, A nymph celestial came,
And mourn its lot of wo.

She clear'd the mists that dimm'd my sightBut grant, kind heaven ! thou ne'er may'st Religion was her name. know

She prov'd the chastisement divine, The pangs I now impart;

And bade me kiss the rod ; Nor even feel the parting blow

She taught this rebel heart of mine That rives a husband's heart.

Submission to its God. Beside the blooming banks of Tay,

Religion taught me to sustain My angel's ashes sleep ;

What nature bade me feel; And wherefore should her Ardolph stay, And piety reliev'd the pain Except to watch and weep?

which time can never heal.' I bore my beauteous babes away

He ceas'd—with sorrow and delight With many a gushing tear;

The tale Sir Eldred hears : I left the blooming banks of Tay,

Then weeping criesThou noble knight, And brought my darlings here.

For thanks accept my tears.
I watch'd my little household cares, O Ardolph, might I dare aspire
And formed their growing youth ;

To claim so bright a boon -
And fondly train'd their infant years
To piety and truth.'

And thou hast lost a son.
Thy blooming Birtha here I see,'

And though I want a worthier plea Sir Eldred strait rejoin'd;

Tourge so dear a cause ; “But why thy son is not with thee,

Yet, let me to thy bosom be
Resolve my doubting mind.'

What once thy Edwy was.
When Birtha did the question hear; My trembling tongue its aid denies;
She sigh'd, but could not speak;

For thou may'st disapprove;
And many a soft and silent tear

Then read it in my ardent eyes, Stray'd down her damask cheek.

Oh! read the tale of love. Then pass'd o'er good Sir Ardolph's face, Thy beauteous Birtha!'-'Gracious power! I cast of deadly pale ;

| How could I e'er repine,' VOL. I.

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