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Had not their monarch, with a father's pride,
Rent from her lord th’inviolable bride;
Rash to diffolve the contract seal'd above,
The folemn vows, and sacred bonds of love.
Now, where his elves fo brightly danc'd the round,
No violet breathes, nor daisy paints the ground;
His tow'rs and people fill one common grave,
A Mapeless ruin, and a barren cave.

Beneath hage hills of smoking piles he lay,
Stunn'd and confounded, a whole fammer's day.
At length awak'd, (for what can long reftrain
Unbody'd spirits !) but awak'd in pain :
And as he saw the defolated wood,
And the dark den where once his empire ftood,
Grief chill'd his heart; to his half-open'd eyes,
In ev'ry oak a Neptune feem'd to rise.
He fled; and left, with all his trembling peers,
The long poffeffion of a thousand years.

Thro' bush, thro' brake, thro' groves, and gloomy dales,
Thro' dank and dry, o'er streams and flow'ry vales,
Direct they fled; but often look'd behind,
And stopp'd and started at each raftling wind.
Wing'd with like fear, his abdicated bands
Disperse and wander into diff'rent lands :
Part did beneath the Peak's deep caverns lie,
In filent glooms impervious to the sky;
Part on fair Avon's margin feek repose,
Whose stream o'er Britain's midmost region flows,
Where formidable Neptune never came,
And seas and oceans are but known by fame ;
Some to dark woods and secret fhades retreat,
And some on mountains chuse their airy feat.
There haply by the ruddy damsel feen,
Or shepherd-boy, they featly foot the green,
While from their steps a circling verdure springs ;
But Ay from towns, and dread the courts of kings.

Mean

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Meanwhile fad Kenna, loth to quit the grove,
Hung o'er the body of her breathless love;
Try'd ev'ry art (vain arts !) to change his doom,
And vow'd (vain vows !) to join him in the tomb.
What could the do; the Fates alike deny
The dead to live, or fairy forms to die.

An herb there grows, (the same old Homer tells *
Ulysses bore to rival Circe's spells ;)
It's root is ebon-black, but fends to light
A ftem that bends with flow'rets milky white;
Moly the plant, which gods and fairies know,
But secret kept from mortal men below.
On his pale limbs it's virtuous juice the thed,
And murmur'd mystick numbers o'er the dead ;
When, lo! the little shape; by magick pow'r,
Grew less and less, contracted to a flow'r ;
A flow'r, that first in this sweet garden smild,
To virgins sacred, and the snow-drop styld.

The new-born plant with sweet regret the view'd,
Warm’d with her fighs, and with her tears bedew'd ;
It's ripen'd seeds from bank to bank convey'd,
And with her lover whiten'd half the shade.
Thus, won from death, each spring she sees him grow,
And glories in the vegetable snow;
Which now increas'd through wide Britannia's plains,
It's parent's warmth and spotless name retains;
First leader of the How'ry race aspires,
And foremost catches the sun's genial fires ;
Midt frosts and snows triumphant dares appear,
Mingles the seasons, and leads on the year.

Deserted now of all the pigmy race,
Nor man nor fairy touch'd this guilty place.
In heaps on heaps, for many a rolling age,
It lay accurs'd, the mark of Neptune's rage;

* Odyssey, lib. x.

Till great Nassau recloth'd the defart shade,
Thence sacred to Britannia's monarchs made.

'Twas then the green-rob’d nymph, fair Kenna, came, • (Kenna, that gave the neighb'ring town it's name)

Proud when the saw th' ennobled garden shine
With nymphs and heroes of her lover's line,
She vow'd to grace the mansions once her own,
And picture out in plants the fairy town.
To far-fam'd Wise her flight unseen the fped,
And with gay prospects fill’d the craftsman's head;
Soft in his fancy drew a pleasing scheme,
And plann'd that landscape in a morning dream.

With the sweet view the fire of gardens fir'd,
Attempts the labour by the nymph inspir'd ;
The walls and streets in rows of yew designs,
And forms the town in all it's ancient lines :
The corner trees he lifts more high in air,
And girds the palace with a verdant square ;
Nor knows, while round he views the rising scenes,
He builds a city as he plants his greens.

With a sad pleasure the aërial maid
This image of her ancient realm survey'd ;
How chang'd, how fallin from it's primæval pride!
Yet here each moon, the hour her lover dy'd,
Each moon his solemn obsequies the pays,
And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthia's rays;
Pleas'd in these shades to head her fairy train,
And grace the groves where Albion's kinsmen reign.

DEATH

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A Deathe raw, and came without delay :

Enters the room, begins the chat,
With, Doctor, why so thoughtful, pray?"

The doctor started from his place,
But soon they more familiar grew :

And then he told his piteous case,
How trade was low, and friends were few.

Away with fear!' the phantom said,
As soon as he had heard his tale:

• Take my advice, and mend your trade ;
« We both are losers if

you

fail.

Go, write ; your wit in satire show
• No matter whether smart or true;
o Call * *

names, the greatest foe
To dullness, folly, pride, and you.

• Then copies spread (there lies the trick ;)
• Among your friends besure you send 'em:
. For all who read will soon

grow fick,
And when you're call'd upon, attend 'em.

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· Thus trade increasing by degrees,
Doctor, we both shall have our ends :

• For you are sure to have your fees,
. And I am sure to have

your

friends.'

3 A2

THK

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Tad winding loos'd the frozen foil

HE sun had chas'd the mountain snow,

And kindly loos'd the frozen foil; The melting streams began to flow,

And plowmen urg'd their annual toil.

'Twas then, amid the vocal throng,

Whom nature wakes to mirth and love, A blackbird rais'd his am'rous song,

And thus it echo'd thro’ the grove.

« O fairest of the feather'd train !

• For whom I fing, for whom I burn; • Attend with pity to my strain,

• And grant my love a kind return.

For fee, the wint'ry storms are flown, '. And gentle zephyrs fan the air ; • Let us the genial influence own,

• Let us the vernal pastime share.

• The raven plumes his jetty wing,

• To please his croaking paramour; • The larks refponfive ditties fing,

And tell their passion as they foar.

But trust me, love, the raven's wing

• Is not to be compar'd with mine; ! Nor can the lark so sweetly fing

? As I, who strength with sweetness join.

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