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Then, screaming, all at once they fly, | By this the stars began to wink;
And all at once the tapers die;

They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
Poor Edwin falls to floor :

And down ydrops the knight: Forlorn his state, and dark the place ; For never spell, by fairie laid, Was never wight in such a case

With strong enchantment, bound a glade Through all the land before !

Beyond the length of night. But, soon as dan Apollo rose,

Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, Full, jolly creature ! home he goes :

Till up the welkin rose the day, He feels his back the less;

Then deem'd the dole was o'er: His honest tongue and steady mind

But wot ye well his harder lot; llad rid him of the lump behind,

His seely back the bunch had got Which made him want success :

Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil nurse ared ; With lusty livelyhed he talks,

She softly stroak'd my youngling head, He seems a-dauncing as he walks ;

And, when the tale was done,
His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth

“ Thus, some are born, my son,” she cries,

“ With base impediments to rise, Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

And some are born with none. Without a bunch behind!

“But virtue can itself advance The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,

To what the fav'rite fools of chance (The youth of Edith erst approv'd,)

By fortune seem'd design'd; To see the revel scene :

Virtue can gain the odds of fate, At close of eve he leaves his home,

And from itself shake off the weight And wends to find the ruin'd dome

Upon th' unworthy mind.” All on the gloomy plain.

§ 116. Edwin and Emma. MALLET. As there he bides, it so befell,

Far in the windings of a vale, The wind came rustling down a dell,

Fast by a sheltering wood, A shaking seiz'd the wall:

The safe retreat of health and peace,
Up sprung the tapers, as before,

An humble cottage stood.
The fairies bragly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,

Beneath a mother's eye; But, certes, sorely sunk with woe,

Whose only wish on earth was now Sir Topaz sees the elfin show,

To see her blest, and die. His spirits in him die;

The softest blush that nature spreads When Oberon cries, " A man is near;

Gave color to her cheek : A mortal passion, cleped fear,

Such orient color smiles through heaven, Hangs flagging in the sky."

When vernal mornings break. With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth, Nor let the pride of great ones scorn In accents falt'ring ay for ruth,

This charmer of the plains : Entreats them pity graunt ;

That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze, For als he been a mister wight

To paint our lily deigns. Betray'd by wand'ring in the night

Long had she fill'd each youth with love, To tread the circling haunt.

Each maiden with despair ; Ah, losel vile!" at once they roar,

And, though by all a wonder own'd. “ And little skill'd of fairie lore,

Yet knew not she was fair. Thy cause to come we know :

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, Now has thy kestrell courage fell;

A soul devoid of art; And fairies, since a lye you tell,

And from whose eye, serenely mild, Are free to work thee woe.'

Shone forth the feeling heart. Then Will, who bears the wispy fire

A mutual flame was quickly caught, To trail the swains among the mire,

Was quickly too reveald; The captive upward fung;

For neither bosom lodg'd a wish, There, like a tortoise in a shop,

That virtue keeps conceal'd. He dangled from the chamber-top,

What happy hours of home-felt bliss Where, whilom, Edwin hung.

Did love on both bestow! The revel now proceeds apace,

But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;

His sister, who, like Envy form’d,
The time with frolic mirth beguile,

Like her in mischief joy'd, And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, To work them harm, with wicked skill, Till all the rout retreat.

Each darker art employ'd.

The father too, a sordid man,

$117. William and Margaret. Maffit. Who love nor pity knew,

When all was wrapt in dark midnight, Was all unfeeling as the clod,

And all were fast asleep, From whence his riches grew.

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, Long had he seen their secret flame,

And stood at William's feel. And seen it long unmov'd:

Her face was like the April morn Then with a father's frown at last

Clad in a wintry cloud; Had sternly disapprov'd.

And clay-cold was her lily hand, In Edwin's gentle heart a war

That held the sable shroud. of differing passions strove:

So shall the fairest face appear His heart, that durst not disobey,

When youth and years are flown; Yet could not cease to love.

Such is the robe that kings must wear Deny'd her sight, he oft behind

When death has reft their crown. The spreading hawthorn crept,

Her bloom was like the springing flower To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

That sips the silver dew; Where Emma walk'd and wept.

The rose was budded in her cheek, Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,

And opening to the view. Beneath the moonlight shade,

But love had, like the canker-worm, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,

Consum'd her early prime; The midnight mourner stray'd.

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, She died before her time. A deadly pale o'ercast :

" Awake!" she cried, “thy true-love calls, So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Come from her midnight grave; Before the northern blast.

Now let thy pity hear the maid The parents now, with late remorse,

Thy love refus’d to save: Hung o'er his dying bed;

* This is the dark and fearful hour And weary'd Heaven with fruitless vows,

When injur'd ghosts complain : And fruitless sorrows shed.

Now dreary graves give up their dead, 'Tis past! he cry'd—but if your souls

To haunt the faithless swain. Sweet mercy yet can move,

« Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Let these dim eyes once more behold

Thy pledge and broken oath! What they must ever love!"

And give me back my maiden vow, She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, And give me back my troth.

And bath'd with many a tear : Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,

“How could you say my face was fair So morning dews appear.

And yet that face forsake ?

How could you win my virgin heart,
But, oh! his sister's jealous care-

Yet leave that heart to break ?
A cruel sister she !
Forbade what Emma came to say ;

“How could you promise love to me, “My Edwin, live for me !"

And not that promise keep ?

Why did you swear my eyes were bright, Now homeward as she hopeless wept,

Yet leave those eyes to weep ?
The church-yard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd

“ How could you say my lip was sweet, Her lover's funeral song.

And made the scarlet pale ?

And why did I, young, witless maid,
Amid the falling gloom of night,

Believe the flattering tale?
Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering 'shade,

“ That face, alas! no more is fair, His groan in every sound.

That lip no longer red ;

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, Alone, appall’d, thus had she pass'd The visionary vale,

And every charm is filed. When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

“ The hungry worm my sister is, Sad sounding in the gale!

This winding-sheet I wear; Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,

And cold and weary lasts our night

Till that last morn appear., Her aged mother's door: “He's gone !" she cry'd ;“ and I shall see “But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence 1 That angel-face no more.

A long, and last adieu ! “I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Come see, false man! how low she lies,

That died for love of you." Beat high against my side"From her white arm down sunk her head; Now birds did sing, and Morning smil'd, She shiver'd, sigh'd, and dy'd,

And show'd her glittering bead;

Pale William shook in every limb,

The bridemen flock'd round Lucy, dead, Then, raving, left his bed.

And all the village wept. He hied him to the fatal place

Compassion, shame, remorse, despair, Where Marg'ret's body lay,

At once his bosom swell; And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf

The damps of death bedew'd his brows, That wrapt her breathless clay:

He shook, le groan'd, he fell! And thrice he callid on Marg'ret's name,

From the vain bride, (ah, bride no more !) And thrice he wept full sore ;

The varying crimson fled;

When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,

She saw her husband dead. And word spoke never more !

He, to his Lucy's new-made grave

Convey'd by trembling swains, $ 118. Lucy and Colin. TICKELL,

One mould with her, beneath one sod, Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,

For ever now remains. Bright Lucy was the grace;

Oft at this grave the constant hind,
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

And plighted maid are seen;
Reflect so fair a face;
Till luckless love, and pining care,

With garlands gay, and true-love knots,

They deck the sacred green. Impair'd her rosy hue,

But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art, Her coral lips and damask cheeks,

This hallow'd spot forbear; And eyes of glossy blue.

Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
O, have you seen a lily pale,

And fear to meet him there.
When beating rains descend ?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,

$ 119. Song. Dibdin. Her life now near its end.

I saw what seem'd a harmless child, By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains

With wings and bow, Take heed, ye easy fair;

And aspect mild, Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Who sobb’d, and sigh'd, and pin’d, Ye perjur'd swains, beware.

And begg'd I would some boon bestow Three times, all in the dead of night,

On a poor little boy, stone-blind. A bell was heard to ring,

Not aware of the danger, I instant comply'd, And, shrieking at her window thrice,

When he drew from his quiver a dart, A raven flapp'd his wing.

And cry'd, “ My power you shall know !" Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

Then he leveli'd his bow, The solemn boding sound,

And wounded me right in the heart. And thus in dying words bespoke

Ø 120. The Race-Horse. Dibdin. The virgins weeping round :

SEE the course throng'd with gazers, the sports “I hear a voice you cannot hear,

are begun,

[“ Done!" must not stay;

The confusion but hear!-"I'll bet you, sir"I see a hand you cannot see,

Ten thousand strange murmurs resound far Which beckons me away. By a false heart, and broken vows,

Lords, hawkers, and jockeys assail the tir'd ear: In early youth I die :

While, with neck like a rainbow, erecting his Am I to blame because his bride

crest, Is thrice as rich as I?

Pamper'd, prancing, and pleas'd, his head Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,

touching his breast, Vows due to me alone;

Scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate. Nor think him all thy own.

Now Reynard's turn'd out, and o'er hedge and To-morrow in the church to wed,

ditch rush

[brush; Impatient both prepare ;

Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his But know, fond maid, and know, false man,

They run him at length, and they have him at That Lucy will be there !

bay,

(dious way : “ There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear, And by scent, and by view, cheat a long, teThe bridegroom blithe to meet ;

While, alike born for sports of the field and He in his wedding-trim so gay,

(fleet horse ; I in my winding-sheet."

Always sure to come through a stanch and She spoke, she died ! her corse was borne, When, fairly run down, the fox yields up his The bridegroom blithe to meet,

breath, He in his wedding-trim so gay,

The high-mettled racer is in at the death. She in her winding-sheet.

Grown aged, us'd up, and turn’d out of the stud, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts ? Lame, spavin'd, and wind-gall’d, but yet with How were those nuptials kept ?

some blood;

Which says,

and near,

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the course,

While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, “D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch Tell his dam won this sweepstakes, his sire All as one as a piece of the ship, gain’d that race;

(o'er, And with her brave the world without offering And what matches he won to the ostlers count to flinch, As they loiter their time at some hedge-ale From the moment the anchor's a-trip. house door;

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his ends, sides goad,

Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road. For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my Till, at last, having labor’d, drudg’d early and

friend's, late,

And as for my life, 'tis the king's. Bow'd down by degrees, he bends to his fate;

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me

so soft Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a mill,

As for grief to be taken aback : Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour-glass

That same little cherub that sits up aloft stands still.

Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack.” And now, cold and lifeless, expos'd to the view

0 122. The Soldier's Grave. Dibdin.
In the very same cart which he yesterday drew,
While a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds, Of all sensations pity brings
The high-metuled racer is sold for the hounds! To proudly swell the ample heart,

From which the willing orrow springs,
Ø 121. Poor Jack. Dibdin.

In others' grief that bears a part .
Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see,

Of all sad sympathy's delights, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

The manly dignity of grief,
A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me, A joy in mourning that excites,
And t'ent to a little I'll strike:

And gives the anxious mind relief: Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack Of these would you the feeling know, smooth should smite,

Most gen'rous, noble, greatly brave, And shiver each splinter of wood;

That ever taught a heart to glow, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse

'Tis the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. every thing tight,

For hard and painful is his lot; And under reefd foresail we'll scud.

Let dangers come, he braves them all; Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft Valiant, perhaps, to be forgot, To be taken for trifles aback,

Or, undistinguish'd, doom'd to fall. For they says there's a Providence sits up aloft Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. The world, that now forgets his toil, Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day He views from a retreat obscure, About souls, heaven, mercy, and such,

And quits it with a willing smile. And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and Then, trav'ller, one kind drop bestow, belay!

"Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch. Nought ever taught the heart to glow But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye

Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave.

123. Yanko. DIBDYN Without orders that come down below,

YANKO he tell, and he tell no lie,
And many fine things that prov'd clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow.

We near one pretty brook,
For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er

Him flowing hair, him lovely eye,
Take the top-sails of sailors aback,

Sweetly on Orra look :
There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft Him see big world, fine warrior men,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

Grand cruel king love blood ;

Great king! but Yanko say, what den I said to our Poll, for you see she would cry, If he no honest good ?

When at last we weigh'd anchor for sea, “What argufies sniv’ling, and piping your eye ? Virtue in foe be virtue still; Why, what a damn’d fool you must be !

Fine stone be found in mine: Can't you see the world's wide, and there's The sun one dale, as well one hill, room for us all,

Make warm where'er him shine. Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ?

You broder him, him broder you, And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

So all the world should call; Why, you never will hear of me more.

For nature say, and she say true, What then ? all's a hazard : come dont be so

That men be broder all. soft,

If cruel man, like tiger grim, Perhaps I may laughing come back ;

Come bold in thirst of blood, For, d’ye see, there's a cherub that sits up aloft Poor man: be noble, pity him,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. That he no honest good :

see,

[so oft

Virtue in foe be virtue still;

It appears from these premises plain, Fine sione be found in mine ,

That wisdom is nothing but folly; The sun one dale, as well one hill,

That pleasure's a term that means pain, Make warm where'er him shine.

And that joy is your true melancholy;

That all those who laugh ought to cry, $ 124. Yanko. Dibdin.

That 'tis fine frisk and fun to be grieving ; DEAR Yanko say, and true he say,

And that, since we must all of us die, All mankind one and t'other,

We should taste no enjoyment while living. Negro, mulatto, and Malay,

Through all the world be broder. In black, in yellow, what disgrace,

126. Poor Peggy. DIBDIN. That scandal so he use 'em ? For dere no virtue in de face;

Poor Peggy lov'd a soldier lad De virtue in de bosom.

More, far more, than tongue can tell ye ;

Yet was her tender bosom sad What harm dere in a shape or make ?

Whene'er she heard the loud reveille. What harm in ugly feature ?

The fifes were screech-owls to her ears, Whatever color, form, he take,

The drums like thunder seem'd to rattle ; The heart make human creature.

Ah! too prophetic were her fears, Then black and copper both be friend,

They calld him from her arms to battle No color he bring beauty ;

There wonders he against the foe For beauty, Yanko say, attend

Perform'd, and was with laurels crown'd; On him who do him duty.

Vain pomp! for soon death laid him low Dear Yanko say, &c.

On the cold ground. 125. Let us all be unhappy together. DIBDIN.

Her heart all love, her soul all truth, We bipeds, made up of frail clay,

That none her fears or flight discover, Alas! are the children of sorrow;

Poor Peg, in guise a comely youth,
And, though brisk and merry to-day,

Follow'd to the field her lover.
We may all be unhappy to-morrow.
For sunshine's succeeded by rain;

Directed by the fife and drum

To where the work of death was doing ; Then, fearful of life's stormy weather,

Where of brave hearts the time was come, Lest pleasure should only bring pain, Let us all be unhappy together.

Who, seeking honor, grasp at ruin ;

Her very soul was chill’d with woe, I grant the best blessing we know

New horror came in every sound, Is a friend, for true friendship’s a treasure;

And whisper'd, death had laid him low And yet, lest your friend prove a foe, On the cold ground. Oh! taste not the dangerous pleasure. Thus friendship's a flimsy affair,

With mute affliction as she stood, Thus riches and health are a bubble;

While her woman's fears confound her, Thus there's nothing delightful but care, With terror all her soul subdued, Nor any thing pleasing but trouble.

A mourning train came thronging round her. If a mortal would point out that life

The plaintive fife, and muffled drum,
Which on earth could be nearest to heaven, The martial obsequies discover;
Let him, thanking his stars, choose a wife His name she heard, and cried, “I come,
To whom truth and honor are given. Faithful, to meet my murder'd lover!"
But honor and truth are so rare,

Then, heart-rent by a sigh of woe,
And horns, when they're cutting, so tingle, Fell, to the grief of all around,
That, with all my respect to the fair,

Where death had laid her lover low
I'd advise him to sigh, and live single. On the cold ground !

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