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Her heart with silent horror shook,

With fighs she fought her lonely cell; To the dim light she cast one look,

And bade, once more, the world farewel.

ODE

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If that nymph, deceiv'd by thee,
Listens to thy sophiftry;
If she courts thy cold embraces,
And to thee resigns her graces ;
What, alas! is left for me,
But to fly, myself, to thee?

THE COPPER FARTHING.

BY MISS PENNINGTON.

APPY the boy who dwells remote from school,

Whose pocket or whose rattling-box contains
A copper farthing! he nor grieving hears
Hot cheese-cakes cried, nor favoury mutton-pies;
But with his play-mates, in the dusk of eve,
To well-known blacksmith's shop, or church-yard hies;
Where, mindful of the sport that joys his heart,
Marbles or chuck, he instantly begins,
With undifsembled pleasure in his face,
To draw the circle, or to pitch the dump:
While I, confin'd within the hated walls
Of school, resounding with a clamorous din,
By still more hated books environ'd, I,
With tedious lessons and long talk to get,
My dismal thoughts employ; or wield my pen
To mark dire characters on paper white:
Not blunter pen or stronger character
Uses the fage, a chiromancer hight,
Sprung from Egyptian king, and fwarthy race,
Amenophis or Ptolemy, when he,
In search of ftolen calf, or money lost,
For wondering plowman does his art employ;
Or for the wilh'd return of sweetheart dear,

Or

Or apron fine purloin'd from hawthorn hedge,
For country-maid consults directing stars,
Gemini, Taurus, or chill Capricorn.

Thus while my lingering hours I joyless spend,
With magisterial look, and folemn step,
Appears my schoolmafter, tremendous wight!
Dreaded by truant boys; how can I 'scape
Th’expected punilhment for tak ungot?
Aghaft-I stand, nor fly to covert bench,
Or corner dark, to hide my hapless head ;
So great my terror, that it quite bereaves
My limbs the power to Ay: flow he ascends
Th' appointed seat, and on his right-hand lies
The bushy rod compos'd of numerous twigs,
Torn from the birchen tree, or bending willow,
Which to the flesh of idle boys portends,
For the neglected tak, a poignant smart;
And with him comes another mighty elf,
Yclep'd an uiher; ah ! terrifick name
To lesser wights; who, if they hapless place
In station wrong, pronoun or participle,
Straight by the magick of his voice, are rais'd
In attitude above their lov'd compeers,
Where they, reluctant, various torments bear,
Till, by their dolorous plaints, that pierce the skies,
They draw kind Pity, moist-ey'd goddess! down,
To heal, with balm of sympathy, their woe.
Ye urchins, take, ah! take peculiar care,
For when ye wot not, much he marks your ways,
And in his mind revolves disast'rous deeds
Against th'unwary wretch. So story tells,
That chanticleer, on dunghill's top elate,
With haughty step, and watchful eye alkaunce,
Each tiny prominence he views, where haply he
May find conceal'd delicious grub or worm,
To which his maw insatiate forebodes

.

Certain

1

Certain destruction, while, behind or bush,
Or pale encompassing the farmer's yard,
Skulks Reynard, fraught with many a crafty wile
T'ensnare the feather'd race, who, if they stray
Beyond the precincts of their mother's ken,
He straight purloins them from her careful wing,
With his sharp teeth torménts their tender frame,
And with the crimson gore diftains their fides,
Relentless; not can all the piercing cries
Of duckling, chick, or turkey, yet unfledg'd,
His heart obdurate move; instant he tears
Each trembling limb, devours the quivering Ach,
Nor leaves a remnant of the bloody feast,
Save a few flattering feathers scatter'd round
(That, with their varied plumage, whilom deck'd
The slaughter'd prey) to tell the hapless tale.

Thus joyless do I spend those hours the sun
Illuminates; and, when the filver moon
Her gentle ray difpenfes, and invites
The swains and maids to mix in jovial dance,
Around the towering may-poles of the green,
Where each gay plowman does his partner chuse
As love or fate directs ; or o'er the lawn
The needle thread, or toss the bounding ball;
All chearless I, nor dance nor pleasing sport,
Nor social mirth, nor bowl of nappy ale
Partake; but, on her drooping raven wing,
Sad Melancholy hovers o'er my head,
Pale Envy rankles deep within my breast,
And baneful venom sheds. Grim Horror, too,
Attends my thoughts, and fills my gloomy mind
With tales of gliding sprites, in milk-white shrouds
Array'd, and rattling chains, and yelling ghosts
Irafcible! or Fancy, mimick queen,
To swift Imagination's eye presents
A group of tiny elves, in circling dance

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