Like a declining statesman, left forlorn To his friends pity, and purfuers fcorn; With fhame remembers, while himself was one Of the fame herd, himself the fame had done. Thence to the coverts, and the confcious groves, The fcenes of his paft triumphs, and his loves; Sadly furveying where he rang'd alone Prince of the foil, and all the herd his own; And like a bold knight-errant did; proclaim Combat to all, and bore away the dame; And taught the woods to echo to the stream His dreadful challenge, and his clashing beam. Yet faintly now declines the fatal strife; So much his love was dearer than his life. Now ev'ry leaf, and ev'ry moving breath, Prefents a foe, and ev'ry foe a death. Weary'd, forfaken, and purfu'd, at last, All safety in despair of safety plac'd, Courage he thence refumes, refolv'd to bear All their affaults, fince 'tis in vain to fear....
And now too late he wishes, for the fight, all That ftrength he wafted in ignoble flight:
But when he fees the eager chace renew'd,
Himself by dogs, the dogs by men purfu'd ; L
He straight revokes his bold resolve, and more plu
Repents his courage, than his fear before ;
Finds that uncertain ways unfafeft are,
And doubt a greater mischief than despair.
Then to the stream, when neither friends, nor force, Nor speed, nor art avail, he shapes his course; Thinks not their rage so desperate t' assay
An element more merciless than they;
But fearless they pursue, nor can the flood
Quench their dire thirft-alas! they thirft for blood.
So, tow'rds a fhip the oar-finn'd gallies ply,
Which wanting fea to ride, or wind to fly,
Stands but to fall reveng'd on those that dare Tempt the last fury of extreme despair,
So fares the stag, among th' enraged hounds, Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds. And as a hero, whom his bafer foes
In troops furround, now these affails, now those, Tho' prodigal of life, difdains to die
By common hands; but if he can descry Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls, And begs his fate, and then contented falls. So when the king a mortal fhaft lets fly From his unerring hand, then glad to die, Proud of the wound, to it refigns his blood, And ftains the chrystal with a purple flood. This a more innocent, and happy chace, Than when of old, but in the self-fame place, Fair Liberty purfu'd *, and meant a prey To lawless power, here turn'd, and stood at bay. When in that remedy all hope was plac'd Which was, or fhould have been at least, the last. Here was that charter feal'd +, wherein the crow All marks of arbitrary pow'r lays down; Tyrant and flave, thofe names of hate and fear, The happier style of king and subject bear : ... Happy, when both to the fame centre move, When kings give liberty, and subjects love. Therefore, not long in force this charter stood; Wanting that feal, it must be seal'd in blood. The fubjects arm'd; the more their princes gave, Th' advantage only took, the more to crave; Till kings by giving, give themselves away, And e'en that pow'r, that should deny, betray.
• Runny-Mead, where that Great Charter was first fealed. ↑ Magna Charta.
• Who gives conftṛain'd, but his own fear reviles,
Not thank'd, but fcorn'd; nor are they gifts, but fpoi Thus kings, by grafping more than they could hold, First made their fubjects, by oppreffion, bold; And popular fway, by forcing kings to give More than was fit for subjects to receive, Ran to the fame extremes; and one excefs Made both, by ftriving to be greater, less. When a calm river rais'd 'with sudden rains, Or fnows diffolv'd, o'erflows th' adjoining plains, The husbandmen, with high-rais'd banks, secure Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure: But if with bays and dams they ftrive to force His channel to a new or narrow course; No longer then within his banks he dwells, First to a torrent, then a deluge fwells; Stronger and fiercer, by restraint he roars,
And knows no bound, but makes his pow'r his fores,
Hæc Jovem fentire, Deofque cunctos.
Spem bonam certamque domum reporto.
THE peaceful evening breathes her balmy store,
The playful school-boys wanton o'er the green:
Where spreading poplars fhade the cottage-door, The villagers in ruftick joy convene.
It has been often faid, that Fiction is the most proper field for poetry. If it always fo, the writer of this little piece acknowledges it is a circumstance against im. The following Ode was firft fuggefted, and the ideas contained in it raised, revifiting the ruins and woods that had been the scene of his early amufements, ith a deferving brother who died in his twenty-first year.
Amid the secret windings of the wood,
With folemn Meditation let me stray; This is the hour when, to the wife and good, The heavenly maid repays the toils of day,
The river murmurs, and the breathing gale Whifpers the gently-waving boughs among; The ftar of evening glimmers o'er the dale,' And leads the filent hoft of heaven along.
How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height, The filver emprefs of the night appears!
Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light, And faintly in it's breaft the woodland bears,
The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,
Solemn and conftant, from yon dell resound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, skims the dusky ground,
Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,
The Gothick abbey rears it's fculptur'd towers; Dull through the roofs resounds the whistling gale, Dark Solitude among the pillars lours.
Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves, And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains, Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window waves, And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains;
There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,
Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where, Some hoary shepherd, o'er his ftaff reclin'd, Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken prayer.
High o'er the pines, that with their darkening fhade Surround yon craggy bank, the caftle rears It's crumbling turrets: ftill it's towery head A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears.
So, midft the fnow of age, a boastful air
Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends.
Wild round the gates the dusky wall-flowers creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led ;
Gone is the bower, the grot a ruin'd heap,'
Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread,
'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight, Great in their bloody arms, march'd o'er the lea,
Eying their rescu'd fields with proud delight!
Now loft to them!-and, ah! how chang'd to me!
This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze, The dear idea of my Pollio bring;
So fhone the moon through these soft nodding trees, When here we wander'd in the eves of spring.
When April's fmiles the flowery lawn adorn, And modeft cowlips deck the ftreamlet's fide;
When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dy'd:.
So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio wore,
These were the emblems of his healthful mind;
To him the letter'd page display'd it's lore, To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'di
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