And fearless plunge into the deathful surge,
And many a livid form they draw to land.

MARY, with heavy heart and deep drawn sighs, Their pious work attends; with fearful eye,

Full many a pale and ghastly corse she view'd;

For the unpitying storm, not one, alas!

Had spar'd, their melancholy tale to tell.

180

High on the sands was stretch'd a youthful form;

Supine he lay, still graceful e'en in death;

185

MARY approach'd, on pious cares intent,
To see if yet the vital spark was quench'd:
When Memory, too faithful to its trust,

Presents the image graven on her heart,

And WILLIAM's form-alas! too well she knew:

190

Down senseless sunk the maid upon his corse :

At length by tender care again to life,

But not to Reason, woke-REASON had fled!

And left-alas! for ever left, a form

Fairer than e'er before on earth she knew.

195

Sweet wreck of beauty! sacred be thy haunts,
And undisturb'd thy nightly wandering steps;
Far, far from eye profane indulge thy woes!
By all unseen, but by the mournful MUSE,

Who with thy song would mix her plaintive lay
And soothe thy mind with melancholy strains;
For grief's sad luxury is now thine all!
Save when at times, to thy deluded sense

200

Appears thy WILLIAM rising from the wave,

To clasp with shadowy arms his love-lorn maid:

205

Then like the moon thro' chilly wintry clouds,

Thy palid face a momentary gleam

Of gladness wears, but soon, too soon! it fades,
And then thy sorrows pour a sadder strain,

More mournful melting on the ear of NIGHT.

210

Ere long the scene will close-sweet blighted flower

O'erloaded with Misfortune's baleful dews,

Down to the grave thy drooping head will sink;

And o'er thy hillock green, the village maids,
Once the companions of thy happier hours,

215

With pious care shall plant the lily pale

And weeping snowdrop-PITY's softest tears

Shall bid them yearly bloom, whilst thy chaste soul,

In thine own angel form, shall take its flight

To meet her WILLIAM, where the Tempest's wing 220

No more shall sweep-nor howling voice be heard,

But joys immortal crown their faithful loves.

The Argument.

ADDRESS to ContemplatioN.—A more cheerful subject proposed.—The Mount described in a calm.—Pilchard fishery• -Address to the MUSE.-The MINER going to work.-Solitary scenes.-Their effect on his mind.—Appearance of his lanthorn at a distance.-Descent into the mine.-Address to HOPE.-The MINER's dream.—Address to HOPE continued.

CONTEMPLATION.

CANTO THE THIRD.

ENOUGH of horror and of woe, the Muse
Has sung-on CONTEMPLATION now she calls
To change the scene, and for a while foregoes
The mournful strains of pensive melancholy,
And to more cheerful numbers tunes her song.

The Mount, which late to Fancy's ranging eye,
Rear'd its rude head amidst the howling storm,
Now lifts his summit to a sky serene;

While Cynthia mounting o'er the Druid hills,
Glances her beams upon the rugged rocks

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