Imágenes de páginas


“ Ere yet,

The parson's maid-core cause had she to rue

Nor yet the days consum'd in Hackthorn's vale, The gypsey's tongue ; the parson's daughter too, should we wiih stern severity bewail,

That lonely on the heath's wide bosom lies, Long had that anxious daughter sighed to know What Vellurn'sspruey clerk, the valley's beau,

And all the lighter hours of life despise. Meant by those glances, which at church he stole, For Nature's seasons different aspects wear, Her father nodding to the psalms slow drawl; And now her fiowers, and now herfruits are due ; Long had she sigh'd, at length a prophet came, Awhile she freed us from the scourge of Care, By many a sure prediction kuown to fame,

But told us then-for social ends we grew. To Marian known, and all she told, for true :

To find some virtue trac'd on life's short paze, She knew the future, for the past she knew.

Some mark of service paid to bumau kind, Where, in the durkling shed, the Moon's dim

Alone can chcer the wintry paths of age, rays Beam'd on the ruins of a one-horse chaise,

Alone support the far-reflecting miud. Vilaria sate, while faithful Marian brought Oh ! often thought-when Smith's discerning care The wayward prophet of the woe she sought. To further days prolong'd this failing frame ! Twice did her hards, the income of the week, To die, was little--But what heart could bear On either side, the crooked sixpence seek ;

To die, and leave an undistinguish'd name Twice were those bands withdrawa from either Blagdon-House, side,

Feb. 22, 1775.
To stop the tittring laugh, the blush to hide.
The wayward prophet made no long delay,
No novice sbe in Fortune's devious way! YET!, while thy rod restrains the needy crew,

" she cried, “ ten rolling months are Remember that thou art their monarch too.

King of the beggars !-Lor'st thou not the name?
Must ye be mothers ; mails at least no more. 0, great from Ganges to the golden Tame!
With you shall soon, O lady fair, prevail

Far-ruling sovereign of this begging ball, A gentle youth, the flower of this fair vale. Low at thy footstool other thrones shall fall. To Marian, once of Colin Clout the scorn, His alms to thee the whiskerid Moor conrey ?, Shall bumpkin come, and bumpkinets be born" And Prussia's sturdy beggar own thy sway; Smute to the heart, the maidens marvell’d Courts, senates-all to Baal that bend the knee, sore,

King of the beggars, these are fiefs to thee! Than ten short months had such events in store ; But still, forgot the grandeur of thy reign, But holding firm, what village-maids believe, Descend to duties meaner crowns disdain;

• That strife with fate is milking in a sieve ;" That worst excrescency of power forego, To prove their prophet true, tho' to their cost, That pride of kings, humanity's first foe. They justly thought no time was to be lost.

Let age no longer toil with feeble strife, These foes to youth, that seck, with dang'rous Worn by long service in the war of life; To aid the native weakness of the heart; [art, . Nor leave the head, that time hath whiten'd, bare These miscreants from thy harmless village drive, To the rude insults of the searching air; As wasps felonious from the lab’ring hive. Nor bid the knee, by labour harden'd, bend,

O thou, the poor man's hope, the pour man's


If, when from Heav'n severer seasons fall,

Fled from the frozen roof, and mouldering wall, PART II.

Fuch face the picture of a winter-day, (tray;TO ROBERT WILSON CRACROFT, ESQ.

More strong than Teniers' pencil could pour

If then to thee resort the shivering train,
Born with a gentle heart, and born to please

Of cruel days, and cruel man complain,
With native goodness, of no fortune vain,
The social aspect of inviting ease,

Say to thy heart (remembering him who said)

“ These people come from far, and hare so The kind opinion, and the sense humane;

bread." To thee, my Cracroft, whom, in early youth, Nor leave thy venal clerk empower'd to hear;

With lenient hand, and anxious love I led The voice of want is sacred to thy ear. Thro' paths where science points to manly truth : He, where no fees his sordid pen invite,

And glory gilds the mansions of the dead : Sports with their tears, 100 indolent to write; To thec this offering of maturer thought,

Like the fed monkey in the fable, vain That since wild Fancy fling the lyre aside,

To near more lielpless animals complain. With heedful hand the moral Muse hath wrought,

But chief thy notice shall one monster claim, That Muse devotes, and bears with honest

A monster furnish'd with a human frame, pride.

"Refers to the conclusion of the first part. Yet not that period of the huinan year,

2 The Mahometan princes seem to have a reWhen Fapcy reign'd, shall we with pain review, gular system of begging. Nothing so common All Nature's seasons different aspects wear,

as to hear that the dey of Algiers, &c. &c. are

It must be And now her flowers, and now her fruits are due: dissatisfied with their presents.

owned, it would be for the welfare of the world, Not that in youth we rang'd the smiling meads,

if princes in general would adhere to the maxim, On Essex’ shores the trembling angle play'd, that "it is better to be than to sttal." C'rging at noon the slow boat in the reeds,

Tu porcis vilia rerum, That wav'd their green uncertainty of shade ; Quamvis fors te pullius egeniem.


The parish-officer !--tho’ verse disdain

Sooth'd by his pity, by his bounty fed, Terms that deform the splendour of the strain; The sick found med'cine, and the aged bread, It stoops to bid thee bend the brow severe He left their interest to no parish-care, On the sly, pilfering, cruel overseer;

No bailiff urg'd his little empire there: The shuming farmer, faithful to no trust, No village-tyrant starv'd them, or oppress'd; Ruthless as rocks, insatiate as the dust!

He learnt their wants, and he those wants re. When the poor hind, with length of years de

dress'd. cayou,

E'en these, unhappy! who, beheld too late, Leans feebly on bis once subduing spade,

Smote thy young heart with horrour at their fate, Forgot the service of his abler days,

His bounty found, and destin'd here to keep His profitable toil, and honest praise,

A small detachment of his mountain sheep. Shall this low wretch abridge his scanty bread, Still pleas'd to see them from the annual fair This slave, whose board his former labours Th’unwritten history of their profits bear; spread?

More nobly pleas'd those profits to restore, When harvest's burning suns and sick’ning air And, if their fortune fail'd them, make it more. From labour's unbrac'd hand the grasp'd hook When Nature gave her precept to reinove tear,

His kindred spirit to the realms of love,
Where shall the hapless fainily be fed,

Afar their anguish from thy distant ear,
That vainly languish for a father's bread ? No arm to save, and no protection near,
See the pale mother, sunk with grief and care, Led by the lure of unaccounted gold,
To the proud farmer fearfully repair ;

Thy bailiff seiz'd their little flock, and sold.
Suon to be sent with insolence away,

Their want contending parishes survey'd, Referr'd to vestries, and a distant day!

And this disown'd, and that refus'd to aid: Referr'd-to perish !-Is my verse severe? A while, who should not succour them, they tried, Unfriendly to the buman character?

And in that while the wretched victims died. Ah ! to this sigh of sad experience trust:

“I'll scalp that bailiff-sacrifice" The truth is rigid, but the tale is just.

In vain
If in thy courts this caitiff wretch appear, To rave at mischief, if the cause remain.
Think not that patience were a virtue here. O days long lost to man in each degree!
His low-born pride with honest rage control, The golden days of hospitality!
Smite his hard heart, and shake his reptile soul. When liberal fortunes vied with liberal strife
But, hapless ! oft thro' fear of future woe, To fill the noblest offices of life;

And certain vengeance of th' insulting foe, When Wealth was Virtue's handmaid, and her
Oft, ere to thee the poor prefer their pray'r, Gave a free refuge from the wrongs of fate;
The last extremes of penury they bcar.

The poor at hand their natural patrons saw, Wouldst thou then raise thy patriot office | And lawgivers were supplements of law. higher,

Lost are those days, and Fashion's boundless To something more than magistrate aspire? Has borne the guardian magistrate away: (sway And, left each poorer, pettier chace behind, Save in Augusta's streets, on Gallia's shoie, Step nobly forth, the friend of human kind? The rural patron is beheld no more. The game I start courageously pursue !

No more the poor his kind protection share, Adieu to fear ! to indolence adieu !

Unknown their wants, and unreceiv'd their And, first we'll range this mountain's stormy

pray'r. side,

(ride, Yet bas that Fashion, long so light and vain, Where the rude winds the shepherd's roof de- Reform'd at last, and led the moral train? As meet no more the wintry blast to bear, Have ber gay vot'ries nobler worth to boast And all the wild hostilities of air.

For Nature's love, for Nature's virtue lost? - That roof have I remember'd many a year; No-fed from these, the sons of fortune find It once gave refuge to a hunted deer

What poor respect to wealth remains behind. Here, in those days, we found an aged pair; -— The mock regard alone of menial slaves, But Time untenants—Hah! what seest thou The worship'd calves of their outwitting knaves ! there?

Foregone the social, hospitable days, " Horrour!-By Heav'n, extended on a bed When wide vales echo'd with their owner's Of naked fearn, two human creatures dead! Of all that ancient consequence bereft, (praise, Embracing as alive !-ah, no!--no life!

What has the modern man of fashion left? Cold, breathless!"

Does he, perchance, to rural scenes repair, 'Tis the shepherd and his wife. And “waste his sweetness on the essenc'd air? I knew the scene, and brought thee to behold Ah! gently lave the feeble frame he brings, What speaks inore strongly than the story told. Ye scouring seas! and ye sulphureous springs ! They died thro' want

And thou, Brightelmstone, where no cits annoy By every power I swear, (All borne 10 Margate, in the Margate-hoy,) If the wretch treads the earth, or breathes the where, if the basty creditor advance, Thro' whose default of duty, or design, (air, Lies the light skiff, and ever-bailing France, These victiins fell, he dies.'

Do thou dcfend him in the dog-day suns; They fell by thine. Secure in winter from the rage of duos ! " Infernal !-Mine! -by-"

While the grim catchpole, the grim porter Swear on no pretence :

swear, A swearing justice wants both grace and sense. One that he is, and one, he is not there,

When thy good father held this wide domain, The tortur'd us'rer, as he murmurs by, The voice of sorrow never mourn'd in rain, Eyes the Venetian blinds, and heaves a sigha


0, from each title folly ever took,

Abandon'd there with famine, pain and cold, Blood ! Maccarone! Cicisbeo! or Rook! And anguish, she expir'd--the rest I've told. From each low passion, from cach low sesort, " Now let me swear—For, by my soul's last The thieving alley, nay, the righteous court,

sigh, From Bertie's, Almack's, Arthur's, and the nest That thief sball live, that overseer shall die." Where Judah's ferrets earth with Charles un- Too late!-His life the gen'rous robber paid, blest!

Lost by that pity which his steps delay'd ! From these and all the garbage of the great, No soul-discerning Mansfield sate to bear, At Honour's, Freedom's, Virtue's call-retreat! No Hertford bore his prayer to mercy's ear; Has the fair vale, where rest, conceal'd in No lib'ral justice first assign'd the jail, flowers,

Or urg'd, as Camplin would have urg'd, his tale. Lies in sweet ambush for thy careless hours ; The living object of thy honest rage, The breeze, that, ba my fragrance to infuse, Old in parochial crimes, and steel'd with age, Bathes its soft wing in aromatic dews; [breast, The grave church-warden! unabash'd be bears The stream, to soothe thine ear, to cool thy Weekly to church his book of wicked prayers, That mildly murmurs from its crystal rest ;- And pours, with all the blasphemy of praise, Have these less charms to win, less power to His creeping soul in Sternhuld's creeping lays!

please, Than haunts of rapine, harbours of disease ? Will no kind slumbers o'er thine eyelids creep,

THE COUNTRY JUSTICE. Save where the sullen watchman growls at sleep?

PART THE THIRD. Does morn no sweeter, purer breath diffuse, Than streams thro' alleys from the lungs of Jews? To Thomas Smith, M. D. of Wrington, in the And is thy water, pent in putrid wood,

county of Somerset, this last of the little Bethesda like, when troub'ed only good ?

poems, intended to cultivate, in the provinIs it thy passion Linley's voice iv hear,

cial administration of justice, that humanity And bas no mountain-lark detain'd thine ear?

by which he is so amiably distinguished, is Song marks alone the tribes of airy wing;

gratefully inscribed by bis most obliged, most Fur, trust me, man was never meant to sing :

affectionate, and most faithful servant, And all bis mimic organs e'er exprest

THE AUTHOR. Was but an imitative bowl at best.

Is it on Garrick's attitude you doat;
See on the pointed cliff yon lordly goat!
Like Lear's, his beard descends in graceful snow, 0, No!-sir John-the Muse's gentle art
And wild he looks upon the world below.

Lives not to blemish, but to mend the heart. Superior here the scene in every part !

While Gay's brave robber grieves us for his fate, Here reigns great Nature, and there little art!

We hold the harpies of his life in hate. Here let thy life assume a nobler plan,

Ingenuous youth, by Nature's voice addrest, To Nature faithful, and the friend of man!

Finds not the harden'd, but the feeling breast; Unnumber'd objects ask thy honest care, Can form no wish the dire effects to prove Beside the orphan's tear, the widow's pray'r.

Of Jawless valour, or of venal love, Far as thy power can save, thy bounty bless,

Approves the fondness of the faithful maid, Unnumber'd evils call for thy redress.

And mourns a gen'rous passion unrepaid. Seest thou afar yon solitary thorn, (torn ?

Yet would I praise the pious zeal that saves Whose aged limbs the heath's wild winds have Imperial London from her world of knaves ; While yet to cheer the homeward shepherd's eye, Yet would I count it po inglorious strise A few sec m straggling in the ev'ning sky!

To scourge the pests of property and life. Not maoy suns have hasten'd down the day, Or blushing moops immers'd in clouds their way, Lord of the clue that threds her mighty maze!

Come then, long skill'd in theft's illusive ways, Since there a scene, that staind their sacred Together let us beat all Giles's fields, light,

Try what the night-house, what the round-house With horrour stopp'd a felon in his fight;

yields, A babe just born that signs of life exprest,

Hang when we must, be candid when we please, Lay naked o'er the mother's lifeless breast.

But leave no bawd, unlicens'd, at her ease. The pitying robber, conscious that, pursu'd,

Say first, of thieves above, or thieves below, He had no time to waste, yet stood and view'd;

What can we order till their baunts we know? To the next cot the trembling infant bore;

Far from St. James's let your Nimrods stray, And gave a part of what he stole before;

But stop and call at Stephen's in their way. Nor known to him the wretches were, nor dear;

That ancient victualler, we've been told, of late, He felt as man, and dropp'd a human tear.

Has kept bad hours, encourag'd high debate? Far other treatment she who breathless lay

That those without still pelting those within, Found from a viier animal of prey.

Have stunn'd the peaceful neighbours with their Worn with long toil on many a painful road,

That if you close his private walls iorest, [din; That toil increas'd by nature's growing load,

'Tis odds, you meet with some unruly guestWhen ev'ning brought the friendly hour of rest, Good Lord, sir John, how would the people stare, And all the mother throng'd about her breast,

To see the present and the late lord mayor',
The ruffian officer oppos'd her stay,

Bow to the majesty of Bow-street chair!
And, cruel, bure her in her pangs away;
So far beyond the town's last limits drove,
That to return were bopeless, bad she strore.

1 This was written about the year 1776.


Illustrious chiefs ! can I your haunts pass by, -For them I ask not, hostile to thy sway, Nor give my long-lov'd liberty a sigh?

Who calmly on a brother's vitals prey; That heav'nly plant which long unblemishdFor them I plead not, who, in blood embru’d, Dishonour'd only, only hurt by you! (blev, Have ev'ry softer sentiment subdu'd. Dishonour'd, when with harden'd front you claim To deeds of darkness her diviner name! For you grim Licence strove with hydra breath To spread the blasts of pestilence and death :

Yet, gentlé power, thy absence I bewail, Here for poor rice, for dark ambition there,

When seen the dank, dark regions of a jail ; She scatter'd poison thro' the social air.

When found alike in chains and night enclos'u, Yet here, in vain-Oh, had her toil been vain,

The thief detected, and the thief suppos'd ! When with black wing she swept the western

Sure, the fair light and the salubrious air When with low labour, and insidious art, [main ;

Each yet-suspected prisoner might share. She tore a daughter from her parent's heart !

- To lie, to languish in some dreary cell, Oh, patriots, ever parriots out of place,

Some loathed hold, where guilt and horrourdwell, Fair honour's foil, and liberty's disgrace !

Ere yet the truth of seeining facts be tried, With spleen I see your wild illusions spread

Ere yet their country's sacred voicé decide Thru the long region of a land misled;

Britain, behold thy citizens expos'd, See commerce sink, see cultivation's charms

And blush to think the Gothic age unclos'd! Lost in the rage of anarchy and arms !

And thou, o Chem, once a nation's pride,
Borne on the brightest wave of glory's tide!

Oh, more than Goths, who yet decline to raze Hast thou the parent spurn'd, the erring child

That pest of James's puritanic days, With prospects vain to ruin's arms beguild?

The savage law 'that barb'rously ordains Hast thou the plans of dire defection prais'd

For female virtue lost a felon's pains ! For the poor pleasure of a statue rais'd ?

Dooms the poor maiden, as her fate severe, Oh, patriots, ever patriots out of place,

To toil and chains a long-enduring year. From Charles quite graceless, up to Grafton's

Th' unnatural monarch, to the sex unkind, grace!

An owl obscene, in learning's sunshine blind ! Where forty-five onee mark'd the dirty door, Councils of pathics, cabinets of tools, And the chain’d knife' invites the paltry whore; Benches of knaves, and parliaments of fools, Tho' far, methinks, the choicest guests are fled,

Fanatic fools, that, in those twilight times, And Wilkes and Humphrey number'd with the With.wild religion cloak’d the worst of crimes!dead,

Hope we from such a crew, in such a reign, Wilkes, who in death would friendship’s vows

For equal laws, or policy humane? fulti,

Here, then, O Justice ! thy own power forbear; True to his cause, and dines with Humphrey The sole protector of th’unpitied fair. still

Tho' long entreat the ruthless overseer; Where sculks each dark, where roams each Tho' the loud vestry tease thy tortur'd ear; despʻrate wight,

Tho' all to acts, to precedents appeal, Owls of the day and vultures of the night,

Mute be thy pen, and vacant rest thy seal. Shall we, O Knight, with cruel pains explore,

Yet shalt thou know, nor is the diff'rence nice, Clear these low walks, and think the bus'ness

The casual fall, from impudence of vice. o'er?

Abandon'd guilt by active laws restrain, No-much, alas ! for you, for me remains,

But pause ..... if virtue's slightest spark reWhere Justice sleeps, and Depredation reigns.

main. Wrapt in kind darkness, you no spleen betray, Left to the shameless lash, the hardning jail, When the gilt Nabob lacqueys all the way:

The fairest thoughts of modesty would fail. Harmless to you his towers, his forests rise,

The down-cast eye, the tear that flows amain, That swell with anguish my indignant eyes ;

As if

ask her innocence again ; While in those towers raz'd villages I see,

The plaintive babe, that slumb’ring seem'd to lie And tears of orphanis watering every tree.

On her soft breast, and wakes at the heav'd sigh ; Are these mock-ruins that invade my view ?

The cheek that wears the beauteous robe of These are the entrails of the poor Gentoo.

shame; That column's trophied base his bones supply ;

How loth they leave a gentle breast to blame! That take the tears that swelld his sable eye !

Here, then, O Justice! thy own power for-
Let here, O Knight, their steps terrific steer
Thy hue and ery, and loose thy bloodhounds here. The sole protector of th' unpitied fair!

Oh, Merey ! thron'd on His eternal breast,
Who breath'd the savage waters into rest;
By each soft pleasure that thy bosom smote,

When first creation started from his thought;
By each warm tear that melted o'er thine eye,

Warm from this heart while flows the faithful liné, When on his works was written “These must die;" The meanest friend of beauty shall be mine. If secret slaughter yet, not cruel war

What Love, or Fame, or Fortune could besto*, Have from these mortal regions forc'd thee far, The charm of praise, the ease of life, I owe Still to our follies, to our frailties blind,

To beauty present, or to beauty fled, Oh, stretch thy healing wings o'er human kind!

To Hertford living, or Caernarvon dead, *Chair'd to the table, to prevent depredations.

17 Jac, c. 4.

bear ;

[ocr errors]


To Tweedale's taste, to Edgecumbe's sense Ere half her sons, o'er Asia's trembling coast,

Arm'd to revenge one woman's virtue lost; And (Envy spare this boast) to Britain's queen ; Ere he, whom Circe sought to charm in vain, Kind to the lay that all uplabour'd flow'd, Follow'd wild fortune o'er the various main, What Fancy caught, where Nature's pencil In youth's gay bloom he plied th' exulting car, glow'd',

From Ithaca's white rocks to Sparta's shore : She saw the path to new, tho' humble fame, Free to Nerician gales * the vessel glides, Gave me her praise, and left me fuols to blame. And wild Eurotas 5 smoothes his warrior tides; Strong in their weakness are each woman's Foram'rous Greece, when Love conducts the way, charms,

Beholds her waters, and her winds obey. Dread that endears, and softness that disarms. No ohject hers but Love's impression knows, The tim'rous eye retiring from applause, No wave that wanders, and no breeze that blows, And the mild air that fearfully withdraws, Her gloves“, her mountains have his power conMarks of our power these bumble graces prove,

fest, And, dash'd with pride, we deeper drink of love. And Zephyr sigb'd not but for Flora's breast.

Chief of those charms that hold the heart in 'Twas when his sighs in sweetest whispers At thy fair shrine, O Modesty, we fall. (thrall,

stray'd Not Cyn: bia rising o'er the wat'ry way, Far o'er Laconia's plains from Eva's ' shade! When on the dim wave falls her friendly ray ; When soft-ey'd Spring resum'd his mantle gay, Not the pure ether of Æolian skies,

And lean'd luxurious on the breast of May, That drinks the day's first glories as they rise ; Love's genial banners young Ulysses bore Not all the tints from evening-clouds that break, From Ithaca's white rocks to Sparta's shore. Burn in the beauties of the virgin's cheek ;

With all that soothes the heart, that wins, or When o'er that cheek, undisciplin'd by art,

warms, The sweet suffusion rushes from the heart. All princely virtues, and all manly charms,

Yet the soft blush, untutor’d to control, All love can urge, or eloquence persuade, The glow that speaks the susceptible soul, The future hero woo'd bis Spartan maid. Led by nice honour, and hy decent pride, Yet long he woo'd-in Sparta, slow to yield, The voice of ancient virtue taught to hide; Beauty, like valour, long maintain'd the field. Taught beauty's bloom the searching eye to shun, “ No bloom so fair Messene's banks disclose, As early flowers blow fearful of the Sun.

No breath so pure o'er Tempe's bosom blows ; Far as the long records of time we trace • No smile so radjant throws the genial ray Still flow'd the veil o'er mociesty's fair face : Thro’ the fair eye-lids of the op'ning day; The guard of beauty, in whose friendly shade, But deaf to vows with fondest passion prest, Safe froin each eye the featur'd soul is laid, - Cold as the wave of Hebrus' wintry breast, The pensive thought that paler looks betray, Penelope regards her lover's pain, The tender grief that steals in tears away, And owns Ulysses eloquent in vain. The hopeless wish that prompts the frequent sigh “ To vows that vainly waste their warmth is Bleeds in the blush, or melts upon the eye.

air, The man of faith thro' Gerar doom'J to stray, Insidious hopes that lead but to despair, A nation waiting his eventful way,

Affections lost, desires the heart must rue, His fortune's fair companion at his side, And love, and Sparta's joyless plains, adicu! 'The world his promise, Providence his guide ; “ Yet sull this bosom shall one passion share, Once, more than virtue dar'd to value life, Still shall my country find a father there. And call'd a sister whom he own'd a wife.

Ev'n now the children of my little reign Mistaken fatber of the faithful race,

Demand that father of the faithless main, Thy fears alone could purchase thy disgrace. Ev'n now, their prince solicitous to save, " Go” to the fair, when conscious of the tale, Climb the tall cliff, and watch the changeful Said Gerar's prince, “thy husband is thy veil 3."

O ancient faith! O virtue mourn'd in vain ! “But not for him their hopes or fears alone! When Hymen's aitar never held a stain;

They seek the promis'd partner of his throne; When his pure torch shed undiminish'd rays, For her their incense breathes, their altars blaze, And fires unholy died beneath the blaze!

For her to Heaven the suppliant eye they raise. For fajth like this fair Greece was early known, Ab! shall they know their prince implord in And claim'd the veil's first honours as her own.


Can my heart live beneath a nation's pain ?” 1 The Fables of Flora.

There spoke the virtue that her soul admir'd, Plato mentions two provinces in Persia, one The Spartan soul, with patriot ardour fir'd. of which was called the Queen's Girdle, the olher “Enough!" she cried" Re mine to boast a the Queen's Veil, the revenues of which, no

part doubt, were employed in purchasing those parts In him, who holds his country to his heart. of ber majesty's dress. It was about the middle Worth, hononr, faith, tbat fair affection gires, of the third century, that the eastern women, on

And with that virtue, ev'ry virtue lives. 8» taking the vow of virginity, assuined that reil which had before been worn by the Pagan

* From the mountain Neritos in Ithaca, now priestesses, and which is used by the religious called Nericia. among the Rumanists vow.

s The Spartan river, 3 « He is the veil of thine eyes to all that are 6 E merite d'Alberghe amore. -Tasso. with thee, and to all others.”—Gen. xx. 16. Vet. ? A mountain in Peloponnesus. Trans.

& Omnes omnium caritates, &c.--Cic.


« AnteriorContinuar »