No guardian fylph, in golden panoply,

Lifts the broad fhield, and points the sparkling spear.

Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings,

Thy dragon-scales ftill wet with human gore.
Hark, thy fhrill horn its fearful larum flings!
-I wake in horror, and 'dare fleep no more!'

A

WISH.

MINE be a cot befide the hill;

A bee-hive's hum fhall footh my ear;

A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall fhall linger near.

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built neft;

Oft fhall the pilgrim lift the latch,

And fhare my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch fhall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;

And Lucy, at her wheel, fhall fing,

In ruffet gown and apron blue.

The village-church, among the trees,

Where first our marriage-vows were giv❜n,

With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

And point with taper spire to heav'n.

N

VERSES

WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY

MRS. SIDDONS.*

YES, 'tis the pulfe of life! my fears were vain!

I wake, I breathe, and am myself again.
Still in this nether world; no feraph yet!
Nor walks my fpirit, when the fun is set,
With troubled step to haunt the fatal board,

Where I died last-by poison or the sword;

Blanching each honeft cheek with deeds of night,

Done here fo oft by dim and doubtful light.

*After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, April 27, 1795.

-To drop all metaphor, that little bell

Call'd back reality, and broke the spell.

No heroine claims your tears with tragic tone; A very woman-scarce reftrains her own!

Can fhe, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, When to be grateful is the part affign'd?

Ah, No! she scorns the trappings of her Art;

No theme but truth, no prompter but the heart!

But, Ladies, fay, muft I alone unmask?

Is here no other actress? let me afk.

Believe me, those, who best the heart diffect,

Know every Woman ftudies stage-effect.

She moulds her manners to the part she fills,

As Instinct teaches, or as Humour wills;