'In bumble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or pow'r had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

'The blossom op'ning to the day,
The dews of heaven refin'd,
Could nought of purity display

To emulate his mind.

‘The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his; but, woe to mɔ!
Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain ;

And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain;

'Till quite dejected with my scorn He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died.

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fauit!
And well my life shall pay ;

I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay!

And there forlorn, despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die!
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I!'

'Forbid it Heaven!' the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.

Turn, Angelina, ever dear;

My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor❜d to love and thee.

'Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign
And shall we never, never part

My life my all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part;
We'll live and love so true;

The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too!'

2. THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd,
And stul where many a garden flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year:
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying,hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chià their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
The long remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast:
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd :
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire and talk'd the night away;

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side:
But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watch'd and went, he pray'd and felt for all.

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran :
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile;
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleas'd him and their cares distrest:
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

CCXIX. BEILBY PORTEUS, 1731—1808.

AMBITION.

First Envy, eldest-born of hell, embrued
Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men
To make a death which nature never made,
And God abhorred; with violence rude to break
The thread of live, ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
With joy Ambition saw, and soon improved
The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough
By subtle fraud to snatch a single life;
Puny impiety! Whole kingdoms fell
To sate the lust of power: more horrid still,

The foulest stain and scandal of our nature,
Becane its boast. One murder made a villain:
Millions a hero. Princes were privileged
To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.
Ah! why will kings forget that they are men?
And men that they are brethren? Why delight
In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties
Of nature, that should knit their souls together
In one soft bond of amity and love?

CCXX. ERASMUS DARWIN, 1731—1802.

STEEL.

Hail, adamantine Steel, magnetic lord!

King of the prow, the ploughshare, and the sword!
True to the pole, by thee the sailor guides
His steady helm amid the struggling tides;
Braves with broad sail th' immeasurable sea,
Cleaves the dark air, and asks no star but thee.
By thee the ploughshare rends the matted plain,
Inhumes in level rows the living grain;
Intrusive forests quit the cultured ground,
And Ceres laughs, with golden fillets crown'd.
O'er restless realms when scowling discord fiings
Her snakes, and loud the din of battle rings;
Expiring strength and vanquish'd courage feel
Thy arm resistless, adamantine Steel!

CCXXI. COWPER, 1731-1800.

1. BOADICEA.

When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought with an indignant mien
Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage, beneath a spreading oak,
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke.
Full of rage, and full of grief.

"Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

Rome shall perish--write that word
In the blood that she has spilt ;
Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states,
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize Harmony the path to fame.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway,
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they."

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he sweeps the chords
Of his sweet, but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rush'd to battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance duo:

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you.