When lo, the King that wreath'd his fhield

With lilies pluck'd on Creffy's field, Heav'd from its bafe the mouldring Norman frame:

New glory cloath'd th' exulting steep, The portals tower'd with ampler sweep; And Valour's foften'd Genius came, Here held his pomp, and trail'd the pall Of triumph thro' the trophied hall : And War was clad awhile in gorgeous weeds;

Amid the martial pageantries,

While Beauty's glance adjudg`d the prize, And beam'd fweet influence on heroic deeds.

Nor long' e'er Henry's holy zeal, to breathe A milder charm upon the scenes beneath, Rear'd in the wat 'ry glade his claffic fhrine, And call'd his ftripling quire to woo the willing Nine.

IV.

To this imperial feat to lend

Its pride fupreme, and nobly blend Eritish Magnificence with Attic Art; Proud Caftle, to thy banner'd bowers, Lo! Picture bids her glowing powers Their bold hiftoric groupes impart: She bids the illuminated pane, Along thy lofty-vaulted Fane, Shed the dim blaze of radiance richly clear.

Still may fuch arts of Peace engage Their Patron's care! But fhould the rage Of war to battle roufe the new born year, Britain arife, and wake the lumb'ring fire, Vindictive dart thy quick rekindling ire!

FAR be remov'd each painted fcene!
What is to me the fapphire sky?
What is to me the earth s foft dye?
Or fragrant vales which fink between
Thofe velvet hills? Yes, there I fee-
(Why do those beauties burst on me?)
Pearl-dropping groves bow to the fun;
Seizing his beams, bright rivers run

That dart redoubled day:
Hope ye, vain fcenes, to catch the mind
To torpid forrow all refign'd,

Or bid my heart be gay?
Falfe are thofe hopes!--I turn-Ify,
Where no enchantment meets the eye,
Or foft ideas ftray.

HORROR! I call thee from the mould'ring

tower,

The murky church yard, and forfaken bower,
Where 'midst unwholesome damps,
The vap`ry gleamy lamps

Ofignes fatui fhew the thick-wove night;
Where morbid MELANCHOLY fits,
And weeps, and fings, and raves by fits,
And to her bofom ftrains the fancied fprite.

Or, if amidft the arctic gloom

Thou toileft at thy fable loom,
Forming the hideous phantoms of Despair—
Infiant thy grifly labours leave,

With raven wing the concave cleave, Where floats, felf-borne, the denfe nocturnal air.

Oh! bear me to th' impending cliffs,

Under whofe brow the dashing skiff's Behold Thee feated on thy rocky throne;

There, 'midst the fhrieking wild wind's

roar,

Thy influence, HORROR, I'll adore, And at thy magic touch, congeal to stone.

Oh! hide the moon's obtrutive orb, The gleams of ev'ry itar absorb, And let CREATION be a moment thine! Bid billows dash; let whirlwinds roar, And the ftern, rocky-pointed shore The ftranded bark back to the waves refign. Then, whilft from yonder turbid cloud Thou roll ft thy thunders long and loud, And lightnings flaflı upon the deep below, Let the expiring S.aman's cry, The pilot's agonizing figh Mingle, and in the dreadful chorus flow!

HORROR! far back thou dat'ft thy reign; Ere KINGS th' biftoric page could stain With

power;

Ere empires Alexanders curft,

Or faction mad'ning Cæfars nurft,
The frighted World receiv'd thy awful dower!

Whole pen JEHOVAR's felf infpir'd;
He, who in eloquence attir'd,
Led Ifraci's fquadrons o'er the earth,
Grandly terrific, paints thy birth.

Th' ALMIGHTY 'midit his fulgent feat on high,

Where glowing Seraphs round his footstool Яy,
Behold the wanton cities of the Plain,
With acts of deadly name his laws difdain;
He gave th' irrevocable fign,

Which mark'd to man the hate divine;
And fudden from the ftarting fky
The Angels of his wrath bid fly!

Then, HORROR! thou prefidedit o'er the whole,

And fill'd, and rapt, each self-accufing foul! Thou didst afcend to guide the burning

fhow'r

Marks the mysterious fpectre glide, Nor dare his flagging knees obey the Phantom's call.

And loft DESPAIR with defolating cry,

That head-long darts from fome tall tow'r,

On fire at thick night's saddest hour, When not a watchmen wakes, and not an aid is nigh.

These all are thine—and barefoot MADNESS too, Dancing upon the flinty plain,

As tho' 'twere gay to suffer pain, That fees his tyrant Moon, and raving runs

to woo.

morn,

PELLA CRUSCA.

To INDIFFERENCE.

OH Nymph, long fought, of placid mien,
With careless steps, and brow ferene!
I woo thee from the tufted bowers,
Where listless pass thy easy hours—
Or if a Naiad of the filver wave
'Thou rather lov'ft thy purly limbs to lave
In fome clear lake, whofe fascinating face
Lures the foft willow to its pure embrace ;
Or, if beneath the gelid rock

Thy fmiles all human forrows mock,
Where'er thou art, in earth or air,
Oh! some, and chafe the fiend DESPAIR |

Have I not mark'd thee on the green
Roving, by vulgar eyes unfeen ?
Have I not watch'd thy lightsome dance
When evening's foften'd glows advance?
Dear Goddess, yes! and whilft the ruftic's
mirth

Proclaims the hour which gives wild gambols birth;

Supine, I've found thee in the elm-row's shade,

Lull'd by the hum returning bees have made,
Who chary of their golden Spoils
Finish their fragrant, rofy toils
With reft-inviting, flumb'rous fong,
As to their waxen couch they throng.

in vain ;

Wan Jealoufy's empoisoning tooth,
And Love which feeds upon our youth,
And holy Friendship's broken tie,
Ne'er dim the luftre of thy eye.

For thee, it is all Nature blooms,
For thee, the Spring new charms affumes,
Nor vainly flings her bloffoms round,
Not vainly bids her groves refound;
Her mufic, colours, odours, all are thine,
To thee her months their richest gifts consign;
To thee the morn is bright, and sweet the ray
That marks the progress of the finking day;
Each change is grateful to thy foul,
For its fine tafle no woes controul,
The powers of Nature, and of Art,
Alike entrance the easy heart.
And oh beneath thy gentle doom
Which the calm comforts make their home,
That cruel imp is never found
Whofe fame fuch idle fongs refound→→
Dread SENSIBILITY!-Oh! let me Ay
Where Greenland darkness drinks the beamy

iky,

VOL. XII.

49.

Or where the Sun, with downward torrid ray
Kills, with the barb'rous glories of the day!
I'd dare th' excess of ev'ry clime,
Grafp ev'ry evil known by time,
Ere live beneath that witch's spells,
With whom no lafting pleasure dwells.

Her lovely form deceives the heart,
The tear for ever prompt to start,
The tender look, the ready figh,
And foft emotion always nigh;
And yet Content th' infidious fiend forbids
Oh! fhe has torn the slumbers from my lids 3
Oft rous'd my torpid sense to living woe,
And bid chill anguish to my bosom grow.
She feals her prey!-in vain the Spring
Wakes rapture, thro' her groves to fing;
The rofeate Morn's Hygeian bloom

Fades down, unmark'd, to evening's gloom, Oh SENSIBILITY! thy fceptre fad Points where the frantic glance proclaims

THEE MAD!

Strain'd to excefs, Reason is chain'd thy flave, Or the poor Victim fhuns thee in the grave; To thee each crime, each evil owes its birth, That in gigantic horror treads the earth: SAVAGE UNTAM'DI the fmiles to drink our tears,

And where's no folid ill, the wounds with

fears &

Riots in fighs, is footh'd when most we

(mart

Now, whilft the guides my pen, her PANG's within my heart.

ANNA MATILDA.

O DE

To DEATH.

THOU, whofe remorseless rage

Nor vows nor tears affuage, TRIUMPHANT DEATH!-to thee I raise The bursting notes of dauntless praise !→ Methinks on yonder murky cloud Thou fit'ft, in majesty severe ! Thy regal robe a ghaitly shroud! Thy right arm lifts the infatiate fpear! Such was thy glance, when, erft as o'er the plain

Where Indus rolls his burning fand, Young Ammon led the victor train, In glowing luft of fierce command: As vain he cried, with thundering voice, "The world is mine! Rejoice, rejoice! "The World I've won! - THOυ gav'ft the withering nod,

Thy FIAT fmote his heart-he funk→ fenfelefs clod!—

"And art then great?

replies

Mankind

With fad affent of mingling fighs! Sighs that fwell the biting gales

Which fep o'er Lapland's frozen

vales!

The rapt Bard's warblings fill the air;
And joy and harmony combine!

Touch but the talisman, and all is thine!
Th' infenfate lovers fix in icy fold,
And on his throbbing lyre the Minstrel's hand
is cold!.

"Tis THOU canft quench the Eagle's
fight,

That stems the cataract of light!
Forbid the vernal buds to blow-
Bend th' obedient foreft low-
And tame the monsters of the main.
Such is thy potent reign!

A O'er earth, and air, and fea!

Yet, art thou ftill difdain'd by me.
And I have reafon for my scərn ;-
Do I not hate the rifing morn;
The garish noon; the eve ferene;
The fresh'ning breeze; the sportive
green;

The painted pleasures' throng'd refort;
And all the fplendors of the court ?
And has not Sorrow chofe to dwell
Within my hot heart's central cell?
And are not Hope's weak vifions o'er,
Can Love or rapture reach me more?
Then tho' I fcorn thy ftroke - I call thee
Friend,

For in thy calm embrace my weary woes thall end.

And may it never once be told
That you are fick, or I am old!
Although I'm twice as old, 'tis true,
And twice as ugly, too, as you ;
Yet you and I may still agree,
In spite of this disparity,
Provided we but understand,
You to obey, I to command.
Nor is this eafy, notwithstanding
Our good and gracious understanding
Unless we study, Lady Jane,

The good old rule, the golden mean ;
I to your humours always kind,
And you to all my failings blind.
Your youth and beauty fet afide,
Your fex's envy, and their pride,
In other points we're on a par,
Which will prevent each private jar,
I'll neither call you love nor wife,
Because these words are oft at ftrife;
Your wit, your humour, and your sense
(Although fometimes at my expence)
I must admire; if I may too
But have my joke as well as you:
To prove, at least, 'twixt you and me,
That rival wits may still agree;
And this, they fay, no common cafe is,
A wicked pair will break the traces;
But you shall never fee the day
That makes me grave, if you are gay;
And yet, I hope, this many a year
Good health to you, and me good cheer.
Ill give you up your own, good creature.
Good-fenfe and fpirit, with good-nature;
Good-humour, too, I'd gladly grant
If e'er I thought you were in want;
But, truly, I have none to fpare,
For you have got the greatest share;
Nor am I now afham'd to boast
That you deserve to rule the roaft;
Yet may I think (although you know it)
That you have too much fenfe to fhew it.
Contented thus I'll be your flave,
Provided you'll my credit fave;
Call you for fupper, or for dinner,
Say you're a faint, and I'm a finner;
Do as you pleafe-but rule me fo
That none who dine or fup may know.
In short, be you my Major Domo,
And I your most obedient Homo ;
If facrificing sense and spirit
Be in your eyes a mark of merit-
But you defpife this humble part,
And hate a Jerry in your heart..
Let's then, in fpite of Hymen's bands,
Each play into the other's hands:
And, unlike married man and wife,
Be happy ev'ry hour of life;
Be you for ever young and gay,
And I live long to fing the day;
A felfish with! but shall be sung
Though I am old, and you are young:
With this wide difference between,

I thirty-feven, you nineteen,

Then