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Along the wails where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below:
Proud names! who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, grac'd with scars and prodigal of blood,
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood,
Just men, by whom impartial laws were giv'n,
And saints, who taught and led the way to Heav'n!
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation came a nobler guest,
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.
In wliat new region to the just assign'd,
What new employments please the' unbodied mind?
A winged Virtue through the ethereal sky
From world to world unwearied does he fly,
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees where wondering angels gaze?
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind ?
A task well suited to thy gentle mind.
· Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius ! lend.
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join nor death can part us more.
That awful form which, so the Heavens decree, Must still be lov'd and still deplored by me, In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, Or, rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes. If business calls, or crowded courts invite, The' unblemish d statesman seems to strike my sight; If in the stage I seek to soothe my care, I meet his soul, which breathes in Cato, there ;
If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove ;
'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song;
There patient show'd us the wise course to steer,
A candid censor and a friend sincere ;
There taught us how to live, and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou Hill! whose brow the antique structures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once so lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears!
How sweet were once thy prospects, fresh and fair,
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air!
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noontide shadow and thy evening breeze!
His image thy forsaken bowers restore,
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more ;
No more the summer, in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes and thy noonday shade.
From other ills, however Fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the Muse's art I found;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
Bereft of him who taught me how to sing ;
And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
0! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds,
And Craggs, in death, to Addison succeeds)
The verse begun to one lost friend prolong,
And weep a second in the unfinish'd song !
These works divine which on his death-bed laid
To thee, O Craggs ! the expiring Sage convey'd,
Great but ill-omen'd monument of fame,
Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim:
Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
Blest pair ! whose union future bards shall tell
In future tongues : each other's boast, farewell!
Farewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship tried,
No chance could sever, nor the grave divide.
OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace,
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face;
Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lips and damask cheeks,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale
When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjur'd swains ! beware. Three times all in the dead of night
A bell was heard to ring,
And, shrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing.
Too well the lovelorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound,
And thus in dying words bespoke
The virgins weeping round: I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay ; I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away. • By a false heart and broken vows,
In early youth I die.
Was I to blame because his bride
Was thrice as rich as I?
* Ah, Colin! give not hér thy vows,
Vows due to me alone;
Nor thou, fond maid! receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.
"To-morrow in the church to wed
Impatient both prepare; But know, fond maid! and know, false man!
That Lucy will be there. • Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,
This bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.' She spoke; she died. Her corse was borne
The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept ?
The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, depair,
At once his bosom swell;
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride, ah! bride no more!
The varying crimson fled,
When stretch'd before her rival's corse
She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever he remains.
Oft at this grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen ;
With garlands grey and truelove-knots
They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear; Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
To a Lady before Marriage.
H! form'd by Nature and refin'd by art,
With charms to win and sense to fix the heart,
By thousands sought, Clotilda ! canst thou free
Thy crowd of captives and descend to me;
Content in shades obscure to waste thy life,
A hidden beauty and a country wife?
O! listen while thy summers are my theme,
Ah! sooth thy partner in his waking dream.
In some small hamlet on the lonely plain
Where Thames through meadows rolls his mazy train;
Or where high Windsor, thick with greens array'd,
Waves his old oaks and spreads his ample shade,
Fancy has figur'd out our calm retreat-;
Already round the visionary seat
Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to spring,
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing.
Where dost thou lie, thou thinly-peopled green,
Thou nameless lawn and village yet unseen,
Where sons contented with their native ground
Ne'er travell'd further than ten furlongs round,
And the tann'd peasant and his ruddy bride
Were born together, and together died;
Where early larks best tell the morning light,
And only Philomel disturbs the night?
'Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise,
With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dies;
All savage where the embroider'd gardens end,
The haunt of echoes shall my woods ascend;
And oh! if Heav'n the ambitious thought approve,
A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove;