VIII Welcome, Ladies! to the cell Where the blameless Pixies dwell: But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaimed our Faery With what obeisance meet Thy presence shall we greet? For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen With Honour's softer mien ; [Queen, Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair, IX. Unboastful Maid! though now the Lily pale THE RAVEN. A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS. U NDERNEATH an old oak tree There was of swine a huge company, That grunted as they crunched the mast: For that was ripe, and fell full fast. Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high: Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. He went high and low, Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go. I can't tell half his adventures. At length he came back, and with him a She, It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast: Round and round flew the Raven, and cawed to the blast. He heard the last shriek of the perishing soulsSee! See! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls! Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: They had taken his all, and Revenge it was sweet! ABSENCE. A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. WHERE graced with many a classic spoil Cam rolls his reverend stream along, I haste to urge the learned toil That sternly chides my love-lorn song: Ah me! too mindful of the days Illumed by Passion's orient rays, When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul On heedless eyes may pour the day: The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, What though she leave the sky unblest F SONNET. ON THE SAME. AREWELL parental scenes! a sad farewell! To you my grateful heart still fondly clings, Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnished wings Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell. Adieu, adieu! ye much loved cloisters pale! Ah! would those happy days return again, When 'neath your arches, free from every stain, I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale! Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang, Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet, Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang, As when ere while, my weeping childhood, torn By early sorrow from my native seat, Mingled its tears with hers-my widowed Parent lorn. TO THE MUSE. HO' no bold flights to thee belong; Tand the thy lays, with conscious fear, Shrink from Judgment's eye severe, Exalts my soul, refines my breast, 1789. WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA. VIRTUES and Woes alike too great for man In the soft tale oft claim the useless sigh; For vain the attempt to realize the plan, With double pleasure on the page shall dwell, In all but Sorrows shall Amelias be! |