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“ See," quoth the wizard, “how with foltering mien,
And discomposd yon stranger he receives;
Lo, how with sulkie look, and moapt with spleen,
His frowning mistresse to his friend behaves;
In vain he nods, in vain his hand he waves,
Ne will she heed, ne will she sign obay;
Nor corner dark his awkward blushes saves,
Ne may the hearty laugh, ne features gay:
The hearty laugh, perdie, does but his pain betray.

A worthy wight his friend was ever known,
Some generous cause did still his lips inspire;
He begs tle knight by friendships long agone
To shelter from his lawyers cruel ire
An auncient hinde, around whose cheerlesse fire
Sat grief, and pale disease. The poor mans wrong
Affects the knight: his inmost harts desire
Gleams through his eyes; yet all confus'd, and stung
With inward pain, he looks, and silence guards his

tongue.

“ See, while his friend entreats and urges still,
See, how with sidelong glaunce and haviour shy
He steals the look to read his lemmans will,
Watchfull the dawn of an assent to spy.
Look as he will, yet will she not comply.
His friend with scorn beholds his awkward pain;
From him even pity turns her tear-dewd eye,
And hardlie can the bursting laugh restrain,
While manlie honour frowns on his unmanlie stain,

" Let other scenes now rise,” the wizard said:
He wavd his hand, and other scenes arose.
“ See there," quoth he,“ the knight supinely laid
Invokes the household houres of learnd repose;
An auncient song its manly joys bestows:
The melting passion of the nutt-brown mayde
Glides through his breast; his wandering fancy glows.
Till into wildest reveries betrayd,
He hears th’imagind faire, and wooes the lovely shade.

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Transported he repeats her constant vow,
How to the green wode shade, betide whateer,
She with her banishd love would fearlesse goe,
And sweet would be with him the hardest cheer.
• Heaven!' he sighs, 'what blessings dwell sincere
In love like this!'-But instant as he sighd,
Bursting into the room, loud in his ear
His lemman thonders, ' Ah! fell dole betide
The girl that trusts in man before she bees his bride!

« • And must some lemman of a whiffling song
Delight your fancy?" she disdainful cries;
When straight herimps all brawling round her throng,
And, bleard with teares, each for revenge applies:
Him cheife in spleene the father means chastise,
But from his kindlie hand she saves him still ;
Yet for no fault, anon, in furious wise
Yon yellow elfe she little spares to kill;
And then, next breath, does all to coax its stubborn

will.

VOL. VI.

Pale as the ghoste that by the gleaming moon
Withdraws the curtain of the murderers bed,
So pale and cold at heart, as halfe aswoon
The knight stares round; yet good nor bad he sed.
Alas! though trembling anguish inward bled,
His best resolve soon as a meteor dies :
His present peace

and ease mote chance have fled, He deems; and yielding, looks most wondrous wise, As from himself he hop'd his grief and shame dis

guise.

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Woe to the wight whose hated home no more The hallowd temple of content may be ! While now his days abroad with groomes he wore, His mistresse with her liefest companie, A rude unletterd herd! with dearest glee, Enjoys each whisper of her neighbours shame; And still anon the flask of ratifie Improves their tales, till certes not a name Escapes their blasting tongue, or goody, wench, or NATHANIEL COTTON.

dame.”

BORN 1707.-DIED 1788.

NATHANIEL Cotton was a physician, who paid particular attention to the subject of mental disorders; and kept a receptacle for insane patients at St. Albans. Cowper was for some time under his

care,

THE FIRESIDE.

Dear Cloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam ;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,

And that dear hut our home. /

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursions o'er,
The disappointed bird once more

Explor'd the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise:
We'll form their minds with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

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