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And where the land fiopes to its wat'ry bourn,
Wide yawns a gulph beside a ragged thorn ;
Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scoop'd, I judge in ancient time
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.

Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wint’iy guest, is fed ;
Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away ;
But corn was hous'd and beans were in the stack,
Now, therefore, issued forth the spotted pack.
With cails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats
With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes,
For which, alas ! my destiny severe,
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.

The sun accomplishing his early march,
His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmost arch,
When exercise and air my only aim,
And heedless whither, to that field I came,
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick * and all Dingle-derry * rang.

Sheep grazed the field ; some with soft bosom press'd
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the reft ;
Nor noise was heard but of the hafty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All seem'd so peaceful, that from them convey'd
To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.

Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, E[q.

But

But when the huntsman, with diftended cheek,
'Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crash was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd,
The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd,
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd,
Admiring, terrified, the novel ftrain,
Then cours’d the field around, and cours’d it round again ;
But, recollecting with a sudden thought,
That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink,
And thought again--but knew not what to think,

The man to folitude accustom'd long,
Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives, a tongue ;
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees,
Have speech for him, and understood with ease ;
After long drought when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies ,
But, with precision nicer ftill, the mind
Hescans of ev'ry loco-motive kind ;
Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name,
That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame;
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears
Have, all, articulation in his ears ;
He spells them true by intuition's light,
And needs no gloffary to fet him right,

This truth premis’d was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what follows next.

Awhile they mus'd ; surveying ev'ry face, Thou hadft suppor'd them of superior race,

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Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin’d,
Stamp'd on each countence such marks of mind
That fage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ;
Or academic tutors, teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths ;
When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers, sad, address’d.

Friends ! have liv'd too long. I never heard
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd.
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent,
And from their prison-house below arise,
With all these hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much compos'd, nor should appear
For such a cause to feel the slightest fear,
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roll'd
All night, me resting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone ;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The ass ; for he, we know, has lately ftray'd,
And being lost, perhaps, and wand'ring wide,
Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide.
But ah! those dreadful yells what foul can hear.
That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd,
And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad ;
I hold it, therefore, witest and most fit,
That, life to save, we leap into the pit.

Him answer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.

How

How ? leap into the pit our life to save ?
To save our life leap all into the grave

e?,
For can we find it less ? Contemplate first
The depth how awful ! falling there, we burst
Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small ;
For with a race like theirs no chance I fee
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it

may,
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues
Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear,
We have at least commodious standing here?
Come, fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plange at last.

While thus the spake, I fainţer heard the peals,
För reynard, close attended at his heels
By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse,
Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent course,
The fock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty sound,
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.

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Beware of desp'rate steps. The darkest day
(Live till to-morrow) will have pass'd away.

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XXV.

THE MODERN RAKE'S PROGRESS.

HE
young
Tobias was

joy ;
He train'd him, as he thought, to deeds of praise,
He taught him virtue, and he taught him truth,
And sent him early to a public school.
Here as it seem'd (but he had none to blame)
Virtue forsook him, and habitual vice
Grew in her stead. He laugh'd at honesty,
Became a sceptic, and could raise a doubt
E'en of his father's truth. 'Twas idly done
To tell him of another world, for wits
Knew better ; and the only good on earth
Was pleasure ; not to follow that was fin.
· Sure he that made us, made us to enjoy ;
• And why, said he, should my fond father prate

Of virtue and religion. They afford

No joys, and would abridge the scanty few
• Of nature. Nature be my deity
• Her let me worship, as herself enjoins,
• At the full board of plenty.' Thoughtless hoy!
So to a libertine he grew a wit,
A man cf honour, boastful empty names
That dignify the villain. Seldom seen,
And when at home under a cautious malk
Concealing the lewd soul, his father thought
He grew in wisdom as he grew in years.
He fondly deem'd he could perceive the growth
Of goodness and of learning, shooting up,
Like the young offspring of the shelter'd hop,

Unusual

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