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

Thus while my lingering hours I joyless spend,
With magisterial look, and folemn ftep,
Appears my schoolmafter, tremendous wight!
Dreaded by truant boys; how can I 'scape
Th' expected punishment for tak ungot?
Aghaft I ftand, 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 fly: flow he ascends
Th' appointed feat, 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 tafk, a poignant fmart;
And with him comes another mighty elf,
Yclep'd an ufher; ah! terrifick name
To leffer 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, moift-ey'd goddefs! down,
To heal, with balm of fympathy, their woe.

Ye urchins, take, ah! take peculiar care,
For when ye wot not, much he marks your ways,
And in his mind revolves difaft'rous deeds
Against th' unwary wretch. So story tells,
That chanticleer, on dunghill's top elate,
With haughty step, and watchful eye afkaunce,

Each tiny prominence he views, where haply he
May find conceal'd delicious grub or worm,
To which his maw infatiate forebodes

Certain

Certain deftruction, while, behind or bush,
Or pale encompaffing the farmer's yard,

Skulks Reynard, fraught with many a crafty wile
T'enfnare the feather'd race, who, if they ftray
Beyond the precincts of their mother's ken,
He straight purloins them from her careful wing,
With his sharp teeth torments their tender frame,
And with the crimson gore diftains their fides,
Relentless; nor can all the piercing cries
Of duckling, chick, or turkey, yet unfledg'd,
His heart obdurate move; inftant he tears
Each trembling limb, devours the quivering ficfh,
Nor leaves a remnant of the bloody feast,
Save a few flattering feathers fcatter'd round.
(That, with their varied plumage, whilom déck'd
The flaughter'd prey) to tell the hapless tale.
Thus joyless do I spend those hours the fun
Illuminates; and, when the filver moon
Her gentle ray difpenfes, and invites

The fwains and maids to mix in jovial dance,
Around the towering may-poles of the green,
Where each gay plowman does his partner chufe
As love or fate directs; or o'er the lawn
The needle thread, or tofs the bounding ball;
All chearless I, nor dance nor pleafing fport,
Nor focial 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 fheds. Grim Horror, too,
Attends my thoughts, and fills my gloomy mind
With tales of gliding fprites, in milk-white throuds
Array'd, and rattling chains, and yelling ghosts
Irafcible! or Fancy, mimick queen,

To swift Imagination's eye prefents
A group of tiny elves, in circling dance

Or luscious feaft employ'd; fuch elves as danc'd
When Oberon did fair Titania wed;

While I, in wishes impotent and vain,
For Liberty, dear object of my hopes,
The tedious moments fpend; or if, perchance,
Morpheus invok'd, my heavy eye-lids clofe,
Dear Liberty still haunts my fleeping thoughts,
And in a fhort-liv'd dream those joys I taste,
Which waking are denied; and beat the hoop
With dext'rous hand, or run with feet as swift
As feather'd arrow flies from archers bow;
Till, from my flumber wak'd, too foon I find
It was illufion all, and mockery vain.

Thus, comfortless, appall'd, forlorn, I pass
The tardy hours, nor of thofe viands taste,
Which are on other boys full oft bestow'd
In plenteous manner, by the liberal hand
Of friend indulgent; apple-pye, or tart,
Or trembling cuftard of delicious goût,
Or frothy fyllabub in copious bowl.
Hard fate for me! yet harder still betides
Me, hapless youth! My faithful top, that oft
Has chear'd my drooping fpirits, and reviv'd
My faddening thoughts, when o'er the pavement fmooth
It fpins and fleeps, and to it's mafter's hand
Does ample juftice; now, alas! become
To all the rude inclemencies of weather,
To time, and deftiny's relentless doom,
A miferable victim, quite decay'd

:

With many services, and cleft throughout,
All useless lies ah! fight of faddeft woe
To wretched me, of every hope bereft,
Of every gleam of comfort. So the wretch,
Who near or Ætna or Vefuvius dwells,

Beholds the fulphurous flames, the molten rocks,

And feels the ground trembling beneath his feet;

Till,

Till, with a horrid yawn, it opens wide
Before his eyes, all glaring with affright;
Swallows his cultur'd vines, his gardens, house,
With, all his foul held dear, his lovely wife,
And prattling babes, the hopes of years to come;
All, all are loft, in ruin terrible!

THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

BY THE REY. MR. THOMAS PENROSE.

AINTLY bray'd the battle's roar,

FA

Diftant, down the hollow wind;

Panting terror fled before,

Wounds and death were left behind.

The War-fiend curs'd the funken day,
That check'd his fierce purfuit too foon;

While, scarcely lighting to the prey,

Low hung, and lour'd, the bloody moon.

The field, fo late the hero's pride,

Was now with various carnage spread;

And floated with a crimson tide,

That drench'd the dying and the dead.

O'er the fad scene of dreariest view,
Abandon'd all to horrors wild,

With frantick step Maria flew ;
Maria, Sorrow's early child!

By duty led-for every vein

Was warm'd by Hymen's pureft flame;

With Edgar, o'er the wintry main,
She, lovely, faithful wanderer, came.

3 L 2

For

For well fhe thought a friend fo dear

In darkest hours might joy impart;
Her warrior, faint with toil, might chear,
Or foothe her bleeding warrior's fmart.

Tho' look'd for long-in chill affright, (The torrent bursting from her eye) She heard the fignal for the fight,

While her foul trembled in a figh!

She heard, and clafp'd him to her breast,
Yet fcarce could urge th' inglorious stay;
His manly heart the charm confefs'd,

Then broke the charm, and rush'd away.

Too foon, in few-but deadly words,
Some flying ftraggler breath'd to tell,
That, in the foremoft ftrife of fwords,
The young, the gallant Edgar, fell!

She prefs'd to hear-she caught the tale;
At every found her blood congeal'd:
With terror bold, with terror pale,
She fprung to fearch the fatal field.

O'er the fad scene, in dire amaze,

She went, with courage not her own;

On many a corse she caft her gaze,

And turn'd her ear to many a groan.

Drear anguifh urged her to prefs

Full many a hand, as wild fhe mourn'd:

Of comfort glad, the drear caress

The damp, chill, dying hand, return'd!

Her