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said he,

Note 20, page 4, col. 1.

She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost,

of fair occasions one for ever by; Sweet bird! thy truth shall Ilaarlem's walls attest,

Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely crossid, During the siege of Haarlem, when that city was re

Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die;

For what, esceptih'instinctive fear duced to the last extremity, and on the point of opening

Lest sbe survive, detains me here, its gates to a base and barbarous cnemy, a design was

When all the life of life- is fed ? formed to relieve it; and the intelligence was conveyed

What, but the deep inberent dread,

Lest sbe beyond the grave resume ber reign, to the citizens by a letter which was tied under the wing

And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign? of a pigeon.—Thuanus, lib. lv, c. 5. The same messenger was employed at the siege of

Note 25, page 6, col. 1.

Hast thou tbro' Eden's wild-wood vales pursued.
Mutina, as we are informed by the elder Pliny.-Hist.
Nat. x, 37.

On the road-side between Penrith and Appleby there

stands a small pillar with this inscription : Note 21, page 4, col. 2.

« This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Hark! the bee, etc.

Countess Dowager of Pembroke, etc. for a memorial of This little animal, from the extreme convexity of her her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious eye, cannot see many inches before her.

mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on

the 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left Note 22, page 5, col 1.

an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the

parish of Brougham, cvery ad day of April for ever, upon These still exist, etc.

the stone-table placed hard by. Laus Deo!. There is a future Existence even in this world, an

The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland. live after lis. It is in reserve for every man, however

Note 26, page 6, col. 1. obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, must be

O'er bis dead son the gallant Ormond sighd. equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are

Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity: known by us ? These are within the sphere of our in- though he ever retained a pleasing, however melanfluence, and among these and their descendants we may

choly, sense of the signal merit of Ossory. «I would not live evermore.

exchange my

dead
son,»

« for any living son in

Christendom.»-HUME. It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the happiest in

The same sentiment is inscribed on Miss Dolman's

urn at the Leasowes. Juence on our lives. The latter excites us to gain the

- Heu, quanto minus est cum refavour of God, the former to gain the love and esteem liquis versari, quam tui meminisse!» of wise and good men; and both lead to the same end;

Note 27, page 6, col. 2. for, in framing our conceptions of the Deity, we only

High on exulting wing the heatb-cock rose. ascribe to Him exalted degrees of Wisdom and Good- This bird is remarkable for luis exultation during

the spring Note 23, page 5, col. 2.

Note 28, page 6, col. 2.

Derwent's clear mirror,
Yet still how sweet the sootbings of his art !

Keswick-Lake in Cumberland.
The astronomer chalking his figures on the wall, in
Hogarth's view of Bedlam, is an admirable exemplifica-
tion of this idea.--See the Rake's Progress, plate 8.

Down by St Herbert's consecrated grove.

A small island covered with trees, among which were Note 24, page 6, col. 1.

formerly the ruins of a religious house. Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!

Note 30, page 7, col. 2. The following stanzas are said to have been written

Wben lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew. on a blank leaf of this Poem. They present so affect

In a lake surrounded with mountains, the agitations ing a reverse of the picture, that I cannot resist the

are often violent and momentary. The winds blow in opportunity of introducing them here.

gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner swells, than

it subsides.-See Bourn's list. of Westmoreland.
Pleas. res of Memory!-oh! supremely blest,
And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise ;

Note 31, page 7, col. 2.
If ibe pure con fines of thy tranquil breast
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays!

To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere.
By me how envied !-for to me,

The several degrees of angels may probably have
The lierald still of misers.

larger views, and some of them be endowed with capaMemory makes her influence known

cities able to retain together, and constantly set before By sighs, avd tears, and gri f alone : I preet her as ibe tiend, 10 whom heloog

them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral sonc. once,-Locke.

ness.

col. 2. Note 29, page 7,

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Human Life.

ARGUMENT

Yet, all forgot, how oft the eye-lids close,
And from the slack hand drops the gathered rose!

How oft, as dead, on the warm turf we lie, Introduction-Ringing of bells in a neighbouring Vil-While many an emmet comes with curious eye;

lage on the Birth of an Heir-General Reflections on And on her nest the watchful wren sits by! Human Life, The Subject proposed-Childhood - Nor do we speak or move, or hear or see; Youth-Manliood--Love- Marriage-Domestic Hap- So like what once we were, and once again shall be! piness and Aftliction-War-Peace-Civil Dissension

And say, how soon, where, blithe as innocent, -Retirement from active Life - Old Age and its

The boy at sun-rise whistled as he went, Enjoyments--Conclusion.

An aged pilgrim on his staff shall lean,

Tracing in vain the footsteps o'er the green; The lark has sung his carol in the sky;

The man himself how altered, not the scene! The bees have humi'd their noon-tide lullaby.

Now journeying home with nothing but the name; Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,

Way-worn and spent, another and the same! Still in Llewellyn-ball the jests resound :

No eye observes the growth or the decay:
For now the candle-cup is circling there,

Tc-day we look as we did yesterday;
Now, gladl at hearl, the gossips breathe their prayer, And we shall look to-morrow as lo-day:
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire

Yet while the loveliest smiles, her locks grow grey! The babe, th:e sleeping image of his sire.

And in her glass could she but see the face
A few short years-and then these sounds shall hail She 'll see so soon amidst another race,
The day again, and gladness fill the vale ;

How would she shrink!-- Returning from afar,
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,

After some years of travel, some of war, Eager to run the race his fathers ran.

Within his gate Ulysses stood unknown Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin;

Before a wife, a father, and a son! The ale, now brew'd, in floods of amber shine :

And such is Human Life, the general theme. And, basking in the chimney's amplc blaze,

Ah, what at best, what but a longer dream? 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,

Though with such wild romantic wanderings franght, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,

Such forms in Fancy's richest colouring wrought, 'T was on these knces he sate so oft and smiled.»

That, like the visions of a love-sick brain,
And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees

Who would not sleep and dream them o'er again? Vestures of nuptial while; and hymns be sung,

Our pathway leads but to a precipice; (1) And violets scatter'd round; and old and young,

And all must follow, fearful as it is ! In every cottage-porch with garlands green,

From the first step 't is known; but- No delay! Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene;

On, 't is decreed.

We tremble and obey.

A thousand ills beset us as we go.
Whilc, her dark cyes declining, by his side
Moves in her viryin-veil the gentle bride.

-« Still, could I shun the fatal gulf--Ah, no, And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,

'T is all in vain-the inexorable law! Another voice shall come from yonder tower;

Nearer and nearer to the brink we draw. When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,

Verdure springs up; and fruits and flowers invite, And weepings heard where only joy has been;

And groves and fountains-all things that delight. When by his children borne, and from his door

• Ob I would stop, and linger if I might!-Slowly departing to return no more,

We fly; no resting for the foot we find ;(2) He rests in holy earth with them that went before.

And dark before, all desolate behind! And such is Human Life; so gliding on,

At length the brink appears—but one step more! It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone!

We faint-On, on!- we falter-and 't is o'er! Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,

Yet here high passions, high desires unfold, As full, meihinks, of wild and wondrous change,

Prompting to noblest deeds; here links of gold As any that the wandering tribes require,

Bind soul to soul; and thoughts divine inspire Stretch'd in the desert round their evening-fire;

A thirst unquenchable, a holy fire As any sung of old in ball or bower

That will not, cannot but with life expire! To midstrel-harps at midnight's witching hour!

Now, seraph-wing'd, among the stars we soar; Born in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire; Now distant ages, like a day, explore, And the green earth, the azure sky admire.

And judge the act, the actor now no more; Of Elfin-size-for ever as we run,

Or, in a thankless hour condemnd to live, We cast a longer shadow in the sun!

From others claim what these refuse to give, And now a charm, and now a grace is won!

And dart, like Milton, an unerring eye We grow in wisdom, and in stature too!

Through the dim curtains of Futurity. (3) And, as new scenes, new objects rise to view,

Wealth, Pleasure, Ease, all thought of self resiquid, Think nothing done while aught remains to do. What will not Man encounter for Mankind ?

Behold him now unbar the prison-door,

Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove, And, lifting Guilt, Contagion from the floor,

And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love! To Peace and Health, and Light and Life restore;

But soon a nobler task demands her care. Now in Thermopylae remain to share

Apart she joins his little hands in prayer, Death-nor look back, nor turn a footstep there, Telling of Him who sees in secret there!Leaving his story to the birds of air ;

And now the volume on her knee has caught And now like Pylades (in Ileaven they write

His wandering eye--now many a written thought Names such as his in characters of light)

Never to die, with many a lisping sweet Long with lois friend in generous enmity,

His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat. Pleading, insisting in his place to die!

Released, he chases the bright butterfly; Do what he will, be cannot realize

Oh he would follow-follow through the sky! Sjalf he conceives--thie glorio:is vision flies.

Climbs the gauni mastiff slumbering in his chain,

And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane; Go where he

may,

he cannot hope to find The truth, the beauty pictured in his mind.

Then runs, and, kneeling by the fountain-side,

Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide, But if by chance an object strike the sense, The faintest shadow of that Excellence,

A dangerous voyage; or, if now he can,

If now he wears the habit of a man, Passions, that slept, are stirring in his frame;

Flings off the coat so long his pride and pleasure, Thoughts undefined, feelings without a name!

And, like a miser digging for his treasure,
And some, not here call'd forth, may slumber on
Till tliis vain pageant of a world is

llis tiny spade in his own garden plies,
cone;

And in green letters sees his name arise! Lying too deep for things that perish here,

Where'er he Waiting for life--but in a nobler sphere!

goes,

for ever in lier sight,

She looks, and looks, and still with new delight! Look where he comes! Rejoicing in his birth,

Ah who, when fading of itself away. Awhile he moves as in a heaven on earth!

Would cloud the sunshine of his little day! San, moon, and stars--the land, thic sea, the sky

Now is the May of Life. Careering round, To him shine out as 't were a galaxy!

Joy wings his feet, Joy lifts him from the ground! But soon 't is past—the light has died away!

Pointing to such, well might Cornelia say, With him it came it was not of the day)

When the rich casket shonc in bright array, And he himself diffused it, like the stone

« These are my Jewels!: (7) Well of such as he, That sheds awhile a lustre all its own, (4)

When Jesus spake, well might his language be, Making night beautiful. "T is past, 't is gone,

« Suffer these little ones to come to me!. (8) And in his darkness as lie journeys on,

Thoughtful by fils, he scans and be reveres Nothing revives him but the blessed ray

The brow cngraven with the Thoughts of Years; (9) That now breaks in, por ever knows decay,

Close by her side his silent homage given Sent from a better world to light liim on his way.

As to some pure Intelligence from Heaven ; How great the Mystery! Let others sing

His eyes cast downward with ingenuous shame, The circling Year, the promise of the Spring,

Uis conscious cheeks, conscious of praise or blame, The Summer's glory, and the rich repose

At once lit up as with a holy tlame! Of Autumn, and the Winter's silvery snows.

He thirsts for knowledge, speaks but to inquire; Man through the changing scene let me pursue, And soon with tears relinquish'd to the Sire, Himself how wondrous in his changes too!

Soon in his hand to Wisdom's temple led, Not Man, the sullen savage in his den;

Holds secret converse with the Mighty Dead; But Man call'd forth in fellowship with men;

Trembles and thrills and weeps as they inspire, Schoold and train'd up to Wisdom from his birth; (5) Burns as they burn, and with congenial fire! God's noblest work-Ois image upon earth!

Like Her most yenile, most unfortunate, (10) The hour arrives, the moment wished and fear'd; (6) Crown'd but to die-who in her chamber sate The child is born, by many a pang endear'd.

Musing with Plato, though the horn was blown, And now the mother's ear bas caught his cry;

And every car and every heart was won, Oh grant the clierub to her asking eye!

And all in green array were chasing down the sun! He comes--she clasps him. 'To her bosom press'd, Then is the Age of Admiration(11)-Then He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.

Gods walk the earth, or beings more than men, Her by her smile bow soon the Stranger knows; Who breathe the soul of Inspiration round, How soon by his the glad discovery shows!

Whose

very

shadows consecrate the ground ! As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,

Ah, then comes thronging many a wild desire, What answering looks of sympathy and joy!

And high imagining and thought of fire! He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word Then from within a voice exclaims - Aspire!, His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are lieard.

Phantoms, that upward point, before him pass, And ever, ever to her lap he lies,

As in the Cave athwart the Wizard's glass; When rosy Sleep comes on will sweet surprise. They, that on Youth a grace, a lustre shed, Lock'd in her arms, his arms across hier flung,

Of every Age-the living and the dead! (That name most dear for ever on his tongue)

Thou, all-accomplislied Surrey, thou art known; As with soft accents round her neck he clings,

The flower of knighthood, nipt as soon as blown! And cheek to check, her lulling song she sings, Melting all hearts but Geraldine's alone! llow blest to feel the beatings of his bicart,

And, with his beaver up, discovering there Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart; One who loved less to conquer than lo spare,

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Lo, the Black Warrior, he, who, battle-spent,
Bare-headed served the Captive in his tent!
Young B---- in the groves of Academe,
Or where llyssus winds his whispering stream;
Or where the wild bees swarm with ceaseless bum,
Dreaming old dreams-a joy for years to come;
Or on the Rock within the sacred Fane;-
Scenes such as Million sought, but sought in vain :(12)
And Milton's self (13) (at that thrice-honoured name
Well may we glow-as men, we share his fame) –
And Milton's self, apart with beaming eye,
Planning he knows not what-that shall not die!

Oh in thy truth securc, thy virtuc bold,
Beware the poison in the cup of gold,
The asp among the flowers. Thy heart beats high,
As bright and brighter breaks the distant sky!
But every step is on enchanted ground;
Danger ihou lovest, and Danger haunts thee roimd.
Who

spurs his horse against the mountain-side;
Then, plunging, slakes his fury in the tide ?
Draws, and cries lo; and, where the sun-beams fall,
At his own shadow thrusts along the wall?
Who dances without music; and anon
Sings like the lark—then sighs as woe-begone,
And folds his arms, and, where the willows wave,
Glides in the moon-shine by a maiden's grave?
Come hither, boy, and clear thy open brow :
Yon summer-clouds, now like the Alps, and now
A ship, a whale, change not so fast as thou.

He hears me not-Those sighs were from the heart; Too, too well taught, he plays the lover's part. He who at masques, nor feigning nor sincere, With sweet discourse would win a lady's car, Lie at her feet, and on ber slipper swear That none were half so faultless, half so fair, Now through the forest lies, a stricken deer, A banish'd man, flying when none are near; And writes on every tree, and lingers long Where most the nightingale repeats her song; Where most the nymph, that haunts the silent grove, Delights to syllable the names we love.

Two on his steps attend, in motley clad ; One wocful-wan, one merrier yet as mad; Called Hope and Fear. Hope shakes his

cap

and bells,
And flowers spring up among the woodland dells.
To Hope he listens, wandering without measure
Through sun and shade, lost in a trance of pleasure ;
And, if to Fear but for a weary mile,
Hope follows fast and wins him with a smile.

At length he goes--a Pilgrim to the Shrine,
And for a relic would a world resign!
A glove, a shoe-lie, or a flower let fall-
What though the least, Love consecrates them all!
And now he breathes in many a plaintive verse;
Now wins the dull ear of the wily nurse
At early matins ('t was at matin-time (14)
That first he saw and sicken'd in his prime),
And soon the Sibyl, in her thirst for gold,
Plays with young bearis that will not be controlld.

« Absence from Thee--as self from self it seems!»
Scaled is the garden-wall! and lo, her beams
Silvering the east, the moon comes up, revealing
His well-known form along the terrace stealing.
-Oh, ere in sight he came,'t was his to thrill
A heart that loved him though in secret still.

« Am I awake? or is it-can it be
An idle dream ? Nightly it visits me!

- That strain,» she cries, « as from the water rose,
Now near and nearer through the shade it flows!
Now sinks departing-sweetest in its close!»
No casement gleams; no Juliet, like the day,
Comes forili and speaks and bids her lover stay.
Still, like aerial music heard from far,
Nightly it rises with the evening-star.

She loves another! Love was in that sigh!:
On the cold ground he throws himself to die.
Fond Youth, beware. Thy heart is most deceiving.
Who wish are fearful; who suspect, believing.
- And soon her looks the rapturous truth avow.
Lovely before, oh, say how lovely now! (15)
She tlics not, frowns not, though he pleads his cause;
Nor yet-nor yet her hand from his withdraws;
But by some secret Power surprised, subdued
(Al how resist? Nor would she if she could),
Falls on his neck as half unconscious where,
Glad to conceal her tears, her blushes there.

Then come those full confidings of the past;
All sunshine now where all was overcast.
Then do they wander till the day is gone,
Lost in each other; and when Night steals on,
Covering them round, how sweet her accents are !
Oh when she turns and speaks, her voice is far,
Far above singing !- But soon nothing stirs
To break the silence-Joy like his, like hers,
Deals not in words; and now the shadows close,
Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows
Less and less earthly! As deparis the day
All that was mortal seems to melt away,
Till, like a gift resumed as soon as given,
She fades at last into a Spirit from Ileaven!

Then are they blest indeed ; and swift the hours
Till her

young Sisters wreathe ber liair in flowers, Kindling her beauty-while, unseen, the least Twitches her robe, then runs behind the rest, Known by her laugh that will not be suppress'd. Then before All they stand- the holy vow And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, Bind her as his. Across the threshold led, And every tear kiss'd off as soon as shed, His house she enters—there to be a light, Shining within, when all without is night; A guardian-angel o'cr his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing; Winning him back, when mingling in the throng, Back from a world we love, alas, too long, To fire-side happiness, to hours of ease, Blest with that charm, the certainty to please. How oft hier eyes read liis; her gentle mind To all his wislics, all bis thoughts inclined ; Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow Wirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow. The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts-touch them but rightly-pour A thousand melodics unheard before! (16)

Nor many moons o'er bill and valley rise Ere to the gate with nymph-like step she flies, And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy, With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy, To meet him coming; theirs through every year Pure transports, such as each to each endear!

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And laughing eyes and laughing voices fill
Their halls with gladness. She, when all are still,
Comes and undraws the curtain as they lie,
In sleep how beautiful! He, when the sky
Gleans, and the wood sends

пр its harmony,
When, gathering round luis bed, they climb to share
His kisses, and with gentle violence there
Break in upon a dream not half so fair,
Up to the hill-lop leads their little feel;
Or by the forest-lodge, perchance to meet
The stay-herd on its march, perehance to hear
The otter rustling in the sedgy mere;
Or to the echo near the Abbot's tree,
That
gave

him back his words of pleasantry-
When the llouse stood, no merrier man than he!
And, as they wander with a keen delight,
If but a leveret catch their quicker sight
Down a green alley, or a squirrel then
Climb the gnarld oak, and look and climb again,
If but a moth flit by, an acorn fall,
He turns their thoughts to Him who made them all;
These with unequal footsteps following fast,
These clinging by his cloak, unwilling to be last.

The shepherd on Tornaro's misty brow,
And the swart sea man, sailing far below,
Not undelighted watch the morning ray
Purpling the orient-till it breaks away,
And burns and blazes into glorious day!
But happier still is he who bends to trace
That sun, the soul, just dawning in the face;
The burst, the glow, the animating strife,
The thoughts and passions stirring into life;
The forming utterance, the inquiring glance,
The giant waking from his ten-fold trance,
Till up he starts as conscious whence he came,
And all is light within the trembling frame!

What then a Father's feelings? Joy and Fear
Prevail in turn, Joy most; and through the year
Tempering the ardent, urging night and day
Him who shrinks back or wanders from the way,
Praising cach highly-from a wish to raise
Their merits to the level of his Praise,
Onward in their observing sight he moves,
Fearful of wrong, in awe of whom he loves !
Their sacred presence who shall dare profane?
Who, when He slumbers, hope to fix a stain ?
He lives a model in his life to show,
That, when he dies and through the world they go,
Some men may pause and say, when some admire,
• They are his sons, and worthy of their sire!".

But Man is born to suffer. On the door
Sickness has set her mark; and now no more
Laughter within we hear, or wood-notes wild
As of a mother singing to her child.
All now in anguish from that room retire,
Where a young cheek glows with consuming fire,
And Innocence breathes contagion-all but one,
But she who gave it birth—from her alone
The medicine-cup is taken. Through the night,
And through the day, that with its dreary light
Comes unregarded, she sits silent by,
Watching the changes with her anxious eye:
While they without, listening below, above,
(Who but in sorrow know how much they love ?)
From every little noise catch hope and fear,
Exchanging still, still as they turn to hear,

Whispers and sighs, and smiles all tenderness
That would in vain the starting tear repress.

Such grief was ours-it seems but yesterday-
When in thy prime, wishing so much to stay,
'T was thine, Maria, thine without a sigh
Al midnight in a Sister's arms to die!
Oli thou were lovely- lovely was thy frame,
And

pure thy spirit as from leaven it came!
And, when recall'd to join the blest above,
Thou diedst a victim to exceeding love,
Nursing the young to health. In happier hours,
When idle Fancy wove luxuriant flowers,
Once in thy mirth thou bad'st me write on thee;
And now I write-what thou shall never see!

At length the Father, vain his power to save,
Follows his child in silence to the grave,
(That child how cherish'él, whom he would not give,
Sleeping the sleep of death, for all that live!)
Takes a last look, when, not unheard, the spade
Scatters the earth as «dust to dust- is said,
Takes a last look and goes; his best relief
Consoling others in that hour of grief,
And with sweet tears and gentle words infusing
The holy calm that leads to heavenly musing.

- But hark, the din of arms! no time for sorrow.
To horse, to horse! A day of blood to-morrow!
One parting pang, and then-and then I fly,
Fly to the field, to triumph-or to die ! -
He goes, and Night comes as it never came! (17)
With slıricks of horror!-aud a vault of flame!
And lo! when morning mocks the desolate,
Red runs the river by; and at the gate
Breathless a horse without his rider stands!
But hush !-a shout from the victorious bands!
And oh the smiles and tears, a sire restored !
One wears luis hielm, one buckles on his sword;
One hanys the wall with laurel-Icaves, and all
Spring to prepare the soldier's festival;
While She best-loved, till then forsaken never,
Clings round his neck as she would cling for ever!

Such golden deeds lead on to gollen days,
Days of domestic peace-by him who plays
On the great stage how uneventful thought;
Yet with a thousand busy projects fraught,
A thousand incidents that stir the mind
To pleasure, such as leaves no sting behind !
Such as the heart delights in-and records
Within how silently-in more than words!
A floliday-the frugal banquet spread
On the fresh herbage near the fountain-head
With quips and cranks—what time the wood-lark there
Scatters her loose notes on the sultry air,
What time the king-fisher sits percli'd below,
Where, silver-bright, the water-lilies blow:-
A Wake, the booths whitening the village-green,
Where Punch and Scaramouch aloft are seen;
Sign beyond sign in close array unfurld,
Picturing at large the wonders of the world;
And far and wide, over the vicar's pale,
Black boods and scarlet crossing hill and dale,
All, all abroad, and music in the gale:-
A Wedding-dance-a dance into the night
On the barn-floor, when maiden-feet are light;
When the young bride receives the pomised dower,
And Ilowers are tlung, herself a fairer flower:-

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