From hill to hill the rushing host pursu’d,

And view'd his banner, or believ'd fhe view'd.
Pleas'd with the diftant roar, with quicker tread
Faft by his hand one lifping boy fhe led;
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm

Slept on her. 'kerchief, cradled by her arm;

While round her brows bright beams of Honour dart,
And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart.

-

-- Near and more near the intrepid Beauty prefs'd, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing creft; Heard the exulting fhout, "They run! they run!" “Great God!" fhe cried, "he's fafe! the battle's won!" A ball now hiffes through the airy tides,

(Some Fury wing'd it, and fome Dæmon guides!)
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and finks into her neck;
The red ftream iffuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.-

Ah me!" fhe cried, and, finking on the ground,
Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound;
Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn!

"Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my Love's return! "Hoarfe barks the wolf, the vulture fcreams from far! The angel, Pity, fhuns the walks of war !—

"Oh fpare, ye war-hounds, fpare their tender age !— "On me, on me," she cried, " exhaust your rage!" Then with weak arms her weeping babes carefs'd, And fighing hid them in her blood-ftain'd veft. From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes; Eliza's name along the camp he calls,

Eliza echoes through the canvafs walls;

Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread,
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,
Lo! dead ELIZA weltering in her blood!

Soon

Soon hears his liftening fon the welcome founds, With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds :

Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand, "ELIZA fleeps upon the dew-cold fand; "Poor weeping babe with bloody fingers press'd, "And tried with pouting lips her milkless breast! "Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake

Why do you weep?-Mamma will foon awake." -"She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cried, Upturn'd his eyes, and clafp'd his hands, and figh'd; Stretch'd on the ground awhile entranc'd he lay, And prefs'd warm kiffes on the lifeless clay; And then upfprung with wild convulfive start, And all the Father kindled in his heart:

"Oh, Heavens!" he cried, " my first rash vow forgive! "These bind to earth, for these I pray to live!" Round his chill babes he wrapp'd his crimson vest, And clafp'd them fobbing to his aching breast.

That title now too trite and old)
A man once young, who lived retired
As hermit could have well defired,
His hours of ftudy closed at last,
And finished his concise repaft,
Stoppled his crufe, replaced his book
Within its customary nook,

And, ftaff in hand, fet forth to share

The fober cordial of sweet air,

Like Ifaac, with a mind applied
To ferious thought at evening-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,

And from the trees that fringed his hill
Shades flanting at the close of day
Chill'd more his else delightful way.
Diftant a-little mile he spied

A western bank's still funny fide,
And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimbleft pace,
In hope to bafk a little yet,

Juft reach'd it when the fun was fet.

Your Hermit, young and jovial Sirs!
Learns fomething from whate'er occurs→→
And hence, he faid, my mind computes
The real worth of man's purfuits.
His object chofen, wealth or fame,
Or other fablunary game,

Imagination to his view

Prefents it deck'd with ev'ry hue
That can feduce him not to spare
His pow're of beft exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour to expend
On fo defirable an end.

Ere long, approach Life's evening fhades,
The glow that Fancy gave it fades ;
And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace
Which first engag'd him in the chace.

True, anfwer'd an angelic guide,

Attendant at the fenior's fide-
But whether all the time it coft
To urge the fruitless chace be loft,
Must be decided by the worth
Of that which calls his ardour forth.
Trifles purfu'd, whate'er th' event,
Muft caufe him fhame or difcontent;

A vicious

A vicious object still is worse,
Successful there, he wins a curfe;
But he, whom ev'n in life's laft stage
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And fenfe of having well defign'd;
And if, ere he attain his end,
His fun precipitate descend,

A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompenfe his mere intent.
No virtuous wifh can bear a date
Either too early or too late.

CHAP. XXII.

COWPER.

THE

FAITHFUL-FRIEND.

T

HE green-house is my fummer feat;
My fhrubs difplac'd from that retreat,
Enjoy'd the open air;

Two goldfinches, whofe fprightly fong
Had been their mutual folace long,
Liv'd happy pris'ners there.

They fang, as blithe as finches fing
That flutter loofe on golden wing,
And frolic where they lift;

Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,

And, therefore, never miss'd.

But Nature works in ev'ry breast :
Inftinct is never quite fupprefs'd;

And Dick felt fome defires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Inftructed him at length to gain
A pafs between his wires.
D 6

The

The open'd windows feem'd to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;

But Tom was ftill confin'd;

And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too gen'rous and fincere
To leave his friend behind.

For, fettling on his grated roof,
He chirp'd and kifs'd him, giving proof
That he defir'd no more;

Nor would forfake his cage at last,
'Till gently feiz'd, I shut him fast,
A pris'ner as before.

Oh ye, who never know the joys
Of Friendship, fatisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball and rout!

Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A prifon, with a friend, preferr'd
To liberty without.

COWPER.

*

I

CHAP. XXIII.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rouffeau,

If birds confabulate or no ;

'Tis clear that they were always able

To hold discourse, at least, in fable;

It was one of the whimsical fpeculations of this philofopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his fenfes ?

And