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He wore the rustic manners of a Squire;
Age had not quenched one spark of manly fire;
But giant Gout had bound him in her chain,
And his heart panted for the chase in vain.

Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing Power!
Winged with delight Confinement's lingering hour.
The fox's brush still emulous to wear,
He scoured the county in his elbow-chair;
And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming hound,
That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music round.

Long by the paddock's humble pale confined, His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind: And each, with glowing energy pourtrayed, The far-famed triumphs of the field displayed; Usurped the canvass of the crowded hall, And chased a line of heroes from the wall. There slept the horn each jocund echo knew, And many a smile and many a story drew! High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, And their fantastic branches wildly flung. How would he dwell on the vast antlers there! These dashed the wave, those fanned the mountain-air. All, as they frowned, unwritten records bore Of gallant feats and festivals of


But why the tale prolong ?–His only child,
His darling Julia on the stranger smiled.
Her little arts a fretful sire to please,
Her gentle gaiety, and native ease

Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed
Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red.
But ah! few days had passed, ere the bright vision fled!

When Evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue,
And her deep shades irregularly threw;
Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove,
Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove;
Whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered rite
Amused the fisher's solitary night:

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And still the mitred window, richly wreathed,
A sacred calm thro' the brown foliage breathed.

The wild deer, starting thro' the silent glade,
With fearful gaze their various course surveyed.
High hung in air the hoary goat reclined,
His streaming beard the sport of every wind;
And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave,
Rocked on the bosom of the sleepless wave;
The eagle rushed from Skiddaw's purple crest,
A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.

And now the moon had dimmed with dewy ray The few fine flushes of departing day. O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung, And her broad lights on every mountain flung; When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew, And to the surge consigned the little crew. All, all escaped—but ere the lover bore His faint and faded JULIA to the shore, Her sense had fled !—Exhausted by the storm, A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form; Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired; 'Twas life's last spark—it fluttered and expired !

The father strewed his white hairs in the wind, Called on his child-nor lingered long behind: And Florio lived to see the willow wave, With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave. Yes, Florio lived—and, still of each possessed, The father cherished, and the maid caressed !


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