Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold, The long-rob'd minstrels wake the warbling wire, And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire. With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze. The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day, Who scard'st the vision with thy clarion shrill, Fell chanticleer! who oft has reft away My fancied good, and brought substantial ill! O to thy cursed scream, discordant still, Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear: Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear, And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear. Forbear, my Muse. Let love attune thy line. Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so. For how should he at wicked chance repine, Who feels from every change amusement flow? Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow, As on he wanders thro' the scenes of morn, Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow, Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne. But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide; The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Thro' rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tour. O Nature, how in every charm supreme! To sing thy glories with devotion due! Hence ye, who snare and stupify the mind, Sophists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane! Greedy and fell, tho' impotent and blind, Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane, And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain! Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should deign (Tho' loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme,) With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth! Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide! There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide. Ah me! abandon'd on the lonesome plain, Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart; Various and strange was the long-winded tale; 'Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood. But when to horror his amazement rose, A gentler strain the Beldham would rehearse, The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce. * Mackbeth. How now, ye secret, black, and midnight hags, What is't you do? Witches. A deed without a name. O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce That heart by lust of lucre sear'd to stone! For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, To latest times shall tender souls bemoan Those helpless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone. Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles torn, The babes now famish'd lay them down to die, 'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn, Folded in one another's arms they lie; Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry; "For from the town the man returns no more." But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy, This deed with fruitless tears shall soon deplore, When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store: A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear."But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy, "And innocence thus die by doom severe ?" O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere, Th' assaults of discontent and doubt repel : Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere; But let us hope-to doubt, is to rebel,Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well. Nor be thy generous indignation check'd, But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe. See the fine old ballad, called, The Children in the Wood. B Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay, One part, one little part, we dimly scan Thus Heaven enlarg'd his soul in riper years; [wit. Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth, Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth; |