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When Percy drove the deer with hound and horn;
All in the land of Essex next he chaunts,
Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, And, on a sudden, sung the hundredth psalm.
He sung of Taffey Welch, and Sawney Scot, Lille-bullero, and the Irish Trot. Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore, Or Wantley's Dragon slain by valiant More; The bower of Rosamond, or Robin Hood, And how the grass now grows where Troy town
stood ? His carols ceas'd; the listening maids and swains Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains. Sudden he rose; and as he reels along, Swears kisses sweet should well reward his song. The damsels laughing Ay; the giddy clown Again upon a wheat-sheaf drops adown; The Pow'r that guards the drunk his sleep attends, Till ruddy like his face the sun descends.
*Oh! where shall I my true love find!
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high-pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
And drops at once into her nest.
My vows shall ever true remain;
We only part to meet again.
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
In every port a mistress find:
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy skin is ivory, so white:
. Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
William shall to his dear return:
The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard :
They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head : Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : • Adieu !' she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.
BALLAD. 'TWAS when the
seas were roaring
All on a rock reclin'd:
She cast a wishful look,
That trembled o'er the brook.
And nine long tedious days; Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas ?
And let a lover rest;
To that within my breast?
Views tempests in despair;
To losing of my dear?
Where gold and diamonds grow,
But none that loves you so.
“How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain; Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain ? No eyes those rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.' All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear,
Each billow with a tear ;
His floating corpse she spied ;
She bow'd her head, and died.
A CONTEMPLATION ON NIGHT. WHETHER amid the gloom of night I stray,
Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day, Still nature's various face informs my sense, Of an all-wise, all-powerful Providence.
When the gay sun first breaks the shades of night, And strikes the distant eastern hills with light, Colour returns, the plains their livery wear, And a bright verdure clothes the smiling year; The blooming flowers with opening beauties glow, And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show; The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise, And a pure azure arches o'er the skies. But when the gloomy reign of Night returns, Stript of her fading pride, all Nature mourns: The trees no more their wonted verdure boast, But weep in dewy tears their beauty lost: No distant landscapes draw our curious eyes, Wrapt in Night's robe the whole creation lies : Yet still, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land, We view the traces of the Almighty hand;
Millions of stars in Heaven's wide vault appear,
When to the western main the sun descends,
When the pure soul is from the body flown, No more shall Night's alternate reign be known; The sun no more shall rolling light bestow, But from the Almighty streams of glory flow. Oh! may some nobler thought my soul employ, Than empty, transient, sublunary joy : The stars shall drop, the sun shall lose his flame, But thou, O God! for ever shine the same.