Soon drew the hero, by his armour known.
To Agis' high pavilion they refort.
Now, Ariana, what tranfcending pangs
Thy foul involv'd! what horror claip'd thy heart!
But love grew mightieft; and her beauteous limbs
On the cold breaft of Teribazus threw
The grief-distracted maid. The clotted gore
Deform'd her (nowy bofom. O'er his wounds
Loose flow'd her hair, and bubbling from her eyes
Impetuous forrow lav'd the purple clay,
When forth in groans her lamentations broke:
O torn for ever from my weeping eyes!
Thou, who de pairing to obtain her heart,
Who then moft lov'd thee, didft untimely yield
Thy life to fate's inevitable dart
For her, who now in agony unfolds
Her tender bofom, and repeats her vows
To thy deaf ear, who fondly to her own
Now clafps thy breaft infenfible and cold.
Alas! do thofe unmoving ghaftly orbs
Perceive my gushing anguifh Does that heart,
Which death's inanimating hand hath chill'd,
Share in my fuff'rings, and return my fighs?
O bitter unfurmountable diftrefs!
Lo! on thy breaft is Ariana bow'd,
Hangs o'er thy face, unites her cheek to thine,
Not now to liften with enchanted ears
To thy perfuafive eloquence, no more
Charm'd with the wifdom of thy copious mind!
She could no more: invincible despair
Supprefs'd her utt'rance. As a marble form
Fix'd on the folemn fepulchre, unmov'd,
O'er fome dead hero, whom his country lov'd,
Bends down the head with imitated woe;
So paus'd the princefs o'er the breathlefs clay,
Intranc'd in forrow. On the dreary wound,
Where Dithyrambus' fword was deepest plung'd,
Mute for a space and motionlefs the gaz'd;
Then with a look unchang'd, nor trembling hand,
Drew forth a poniard, which her garment
veil'd,
And, fheathing in her heart th' abhorred steel,
On her flain lover filent finks in death.

§ 130. On the Departure of the Nightingale, SWEET poet of the woods- a long adieu! Farewel, foft minstrel of the early year! Ah! 'twill be long ere thou fhalt fing anew,

6

And pour thy mufic on the night's dull ear." Whether on fpring thy wandering flights await, Or whether filent in our groves you dwell, The penfive mufe fhall own thee for her mate,

And ftill protect the song she loves fo well. With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide Thro' the lone brake that shades thy moffy neft; And thepherd girls from eyes profane fhall hide The gentle bird, who fings of pity best: For fill thy voice fhall foft affections move, And ftill be dear to forrow, and to love!

$131. Written at the Clofe of Spring. THE garlands fade that Spring fo lately wove, Each fimple flow'r which the had nurs'd in dew,

Anemonies, that fpangled every grove,

The primrose wan, and hare-bell mildly blue, No more fhall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again fhall call forth every bell,

And drefs with humid hands her wreaths

again.

Ah! poor humanity! fo frail, fo fair,

Are the fond visions of thy early day, Till tyrant paffion and corrofive care

Bid all thy fairy colours fade away! Another May new buds and flow'rs fhall brings Ah! why has happiness-no fecond Spring?

§132. Should the lone Wanderer. SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his

way,

Reft for a moment of the fultry hours,
And tho' his path thro' thorns and roughness lay,
Pluck the wild rofe, or woodbine's gadding
flow'rs;

Weaving gaywreaths,beneath fome sheltering tree,
The fenfe of forrow he awhile may lofe;
So have I fought thy flow'rs, fair Poefy!

So charm'd my way with Friendship and the
Mufe.

But darker now grows life's unhappy day,

Dark with new clouds of evil yet to come. Her pencil fickening Fancy throws away,

And points my wishes to that tranquil shore, And weary Hope reclines upon the tomb; Where the pale spectre Care pursues no more.

§ 133. To Night.

I LOVE thee, mournful fober-fuited night,
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the reftlefs main.
In deep depreffion funk, th' enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf, cold elements complain,
And tell th' embofom'd grief, however vain,

To

To fullen furges and the viewlefs wind.
Tho' no repole on thy dark breaft I find,

I ftill enjoy thee, cheerlefs as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom th' exhausted heart
Is calm, tho' wretched; hopeless, yet refign'd.
While to the winds and waves its forrows given,
May reach-tho' loft on earth-the ear of Hea-

ven !

$134. To Tranquillity.

IN this tumultuous fphere, for thee unfit,

How feldom art thou found-Tranquillity! Unless 'tis when with mild and downcaft eye By the low cradles thou delight'ft to fit Of Aceping infants, watching the foft breath,

And bidding the fweet flumberers eafy lie; Or fometimes hanging o'er the bed of death, Where the poor languid fufferer hopes to die. O beauteous fifter of the halcyon peace!

I fure fhall find thee in that heavenly scene Where care and anguifh fhall their power refign:

Where hope alike and vain regret fhall ceafe:
And Memory, loft in happiness ferene,
Repeat no more-that mifery has been mine!

While the loud equinox its pow'r combines,

The fea no more its fwelling furge confines, But o'er the shrinking land fublimely rides. The wild blaft, rifing from the western cave, Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;

Tears from their graffy tombs the village dead, And breaks the filent fabbath of the grave! With thells and fea-weed mingled, on the fhore, Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave; But vain to them the winds and waters rave; They hear the warring elements no more :

The fea heaves confcious of th' impending gloom, Deep hollow murmurs from the cliffs arife; They come-the Spirits of the Tempeft come! O! may fuch terrors mark th' approaching night

As reign'd on that these ftreaming eyes deplore!
Flash, ye red fires of heaven, with fatal light,
And with conflicting winds, ye waters, roar!
Loud and more loud, ye foaming billows, burst!
Ye warring elements, more fiercely rave!
Till the wide waves o'erwhelm the spot accurf
Where ruthlefs Avarice finds a quiet grave!'
Thus with clafp'd hands, wild looks, and stream-
ing hair,

While fhrieks of horror broke her trembling speech,
A wretched maid, the victim of defpair,
Survey'd the threatening ftorm and defert beach.
Then to the tomb where now the father flept
Whofe rugged nature bade her forrows flow,
Frantic fhe turn'd—and beat her breast and wept,
Invoking vengeance on the duft below.

Lo! rifing there above each humbler heap,
Yon cypher'd ftones bis name and wealth re-

preft,

To gaze with envy on their gloomy reft,

$136. Written at Penfbwft, in Autumn 1758. YE tow'rs fublime, deferted now and drear,

Ye woods, deep fighing to the hollow blaft, The mufing wanderer loves to linger near, While Hiftory points to all your glories paft: And ftartling from their haunts the timid deer, To trace the walks obfcur'd by matted fern, Which Waller's foothing lyre were wont to hear, But where now clamours the difcordant hern! The fpoiling hand of Time may overturn

Thefe lofty battlements, and quite deface The fading canvas whence we love to learn Sydney's keen look, and Sachariffa's But fame and beauty ftill defy decay, Sav'd by th' hiftoric page, the poet's tender lay!

grace;

And feel his father's cruelty no more!
Part, raging waters! part, and fhew beneath,
In your dread caves, his pale and mangled form
Now, while the demons of defpair and death
Ride on the blast, and urge the howling ftorm!
Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze,
I fee him rife the whitening waves above,
No longer fuch as when in happier days

He gave th' enchanted hours-to me and love:
Such as when daring the enchafed fea,
And courting dangerous toil, he often said,
That every peril, one foft fmile from me,
One figh of fpeechless tenderness, o'erpaid :
But dead, disfigur'd, while between the roar
Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear,
And feem to fay-Ah, wretch delay no more,
But come, unhappy mourner-meet me here.

Yet, powerful fancy, bid the phantom stay,
Still let me hear him!-'Tis already paft;
Along the waves his fhadow glides away,
I lose his voice amid the deafening blast.
Ah! wild illufion, born of frantic pain!
He hears not, comes not from his watery bed;
My tears, my anguish, my defpair are vain,
Th' infatiate ocean gives not up its dead.

'Tis not his voice! Hark! the deep thunders roll;
Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail;
Approach, ye horrors that delight my foul,
Defpair, and Death, and Defolation, hail !'
The ocean hears-th' embodied waters come,
Rife o'er the land, and with refiftlefs fweep
Tear from its base the proud aggreffor's tomb,
And bear the injur'd to eternal fleep!

ANON.

$138. Elegy to Pity. HAIL, lovely Pow'r! whofe bofom heaves the figh,

When Fancy paints the fcene of deep distress;
Whofe tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,
When rigid Fate denies the pow'r to bless.
Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey
From flow'ry meads, can with that figh com-
pare:

Not dew-drops glittering in the morning ray,
Seem near fo beauteous as that falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;

Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
No blood-ftain'd traces mark thy blameless way,
Beneath thy feet no hapless infe&t dies.
Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me,
To fpring the partridge from the guileful foe,
From fecret fuares the ftruggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.
And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And Nature droops beneath the conquering
gleam,

Let us, flow wandering where the current flows, Save finking flies that float along the ftream. Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,

To me thy fympathetic gifts impart; Teach me in Friendship's griefs to bear a fhare, And justly boast the generous feeling heart. Teach me to footh the helplefs orphan's grief, With timely aid the widow's woes affuage, To Mifery's moving cries to yield relief,

And be the fure refource of drooping age. So when the genial fpring of life shall fade, And finking nature owns the dread decay, Some foul congenial then may lend its aid,

And gild the close of life's eventful day.

Starting and fhiv'ring in th' unconftant wind,
Meagre and pale, the ghoft of what I was,
Beneath fome blasted tree I lie reclin'd,
And count the filent moments as they pafs:
The winged moments, whofe unftaying speed
No art can stop, or in their course arrest;
Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,
And lay me down in peace with them that rest.
Oft morning dreams prefage approaching fate;
And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true.
Led by pale ghofts, I enter death's dark gate,
And bid the realms of light and life adieu!
I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe;
I fee the muddy wave, the dreary fhore,
The fluggish streams that flowly creep below,
Which mortals vifit, and return no more.
Farewel, ye blooming fields! ye cheerful plains!
Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound,
Where Melancholy with ftill Silence reigns,
And the rank grafs waves o'er the cheerless
ground.

There let me wander at the close of eve,
When fleep fits dewy on the labourer's eyes,
The world and all its bufy follies leave,

And talk with wifdom where my Daphnis lies. There let me fleep, forgotten, in the clay,

When Death fhall thut thefe weary aching eyes, Reft in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last mora arife.

§ 140. Sonnet to Twilight.

MISS WILLIAMS.

MEEK Twilight! hafte to shroud the folar ray
And bring the hour my penfive fpirit loves;
When o'er the hill is fhed a paler day,
That gives to fillness, and to night, the groves.
Ah! let the gay, the rofeate morning hail,
When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
She bids fresh beauty live along the vale,
And rapture tremble in the vocal fhade:
Sweet is the lucid morning's op'ning flow'r,
Her choral melodies benignly rife;
Yet dearer to my foul the fhadowy hour,
At which her bloffoms clofe, her mufic dies:
For then mild nature, while fhe droops her head,
Wakes the foft tear 'tis luxury to shed.

§ 141. Sonnet to Expreffion.

MISS WILLIAMS.

$139. Extract from a Poem on his own proaching Death, by MICHAEL BRUCE. NOW (pring returns; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known: Dim in my breaft life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.

When horror chills thy tear, thy ardent figh,
When phrenfy rolls in thy impaffion'd eye,
Or guilt lives fearful at thy troubled heart:
Nor ever let my fhudd'ring fancy hear
The wafting groan, or view the pailid look

Of