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His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay,
The guests sat in silence and fear;

At length, spoke the bride, while she trembled
"I pray,
"Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would
"And deign to partake of our cheer."
The lady is silent-the stranger complies,
And his vizor he slowly unclos'd."
Oh, gods! what a sight met fair Imogene's eyes,
What words can express her dismay and sur-
When a skeleton's head was expos'd. [prise,
All present then utter'd a terrified shout,
And turn'd with disgust from the scene;
The worms they crept in, and the worms they

crept out,

And sported his eyes and his temples about,
While the spectre address'd Imogene.
"Behold me, thou false one! behold me!" he


"Behold the Alonzo the brave.

God grants that to punish thy falsehood and "pride [side, "My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy "Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as "bride,

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To think that time so soon each sweet devours,
To think so soon life's first indearments fail,
Who like a flatterer, when the happiest hours
And we are dup'd by hope's amusive tale!
Are past, and most we wish her cheering lay,
Will fly as faithless and as fleet as they!

"And bear thee away to the grave."
This saying, his arms round the lady he wound,
While fair Imogene shriek'd with dismay;
Then sunk with his prey through the wide-IP
yawning ground,

Nor ever again was fair Imogene found,
Or the spectre that bore her away.

Not long liv'd the baron, and none since that
To inhabit the castle presume: time,
For chronicles tell, that by order sublime,
There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime,
And mourns her deplorable doom.
At midnight four times in each year does her
When mortals in slumber are bound, [sprite,
Array'd in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall with her skeleton knight,
And shrieks as he whirls her around.
While they drink out of sculls newly torn from
the grave,

Dincing round them pale spectres are seen:
Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave
They howl: To the health of Alonzo the

"And his consort the false Imogene."

63. Sonnet.


$265. Sonnet. At a Convent.


chance some pensive stranger hither led, His bosom glowing from majestic views, The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape


Should ask who sleeps beneath this lonely bed,
'Tis poor Manda! To the cloister'd scene
A mourner beauteous, and unknown she came,
To shed her tears unmark'd, and quench the

Of ruthless love: vet her look serene.
As the pale moonlight in the midnight isle, [lend
Her voice was soft, which yet a charm could
Like that which spoke of a departed friend,
And a meck sadness sat upon her smile!-
Be the rude spot by passing pity blest, [rest.
Where, hush'd to long repose, the wretched

§ 266. Sonnet. BOWLES. TIME that know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wounds, and slowly thence

Lulling to sad repose the weary sense The faint pang stealest unperceiv'd away); On thee I rest my only hope at last,

WHOSE was that gentle voice, that whisper-And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear

ing sweet,

Promis'd methought long days of bliss sincere?
Soothing it stole on my deluded ear [cheat
-1st like soft music, that might sometimes
Thoughts dark and drooping? 'twas the voice
of Hope.

If love and social scenes, it seem'd to speak
Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;
That hand in haud along life's downward slope

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That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
I may look back on every sorrow past,
And ineet life's peaceful evening with a smile-
As some lone bird at day's departing hour
Sings in the sunbeam of the transient shower,
Forgetful tho' its wings are wet the while:
Yet ah! how much must that poor heart
Which hopes from thee, and thee aloue, a


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In Fancy's fairy meads, the Elysian fields
Of infantine illusion, on the breast
Of boys, who court, like us, the classic Muse,
And daily sip the dews of Castalie.

Happy the school-boy! did he prize his bliss,
Twere ill exchang'd for all the dazzling gems
That gaily sparkle in ambition's eye;
His are the joys of nature, his the smile,
The cherub smile of innocence and health,
Sorrow unknown, or if a tear he shed,
He wipes it soon; for hark! the cheerful voice
Of comrades calls him to the top, or ball:
Away he hies, and clamours as he goes
With glee, which causes him to tread on air;
Bounding along elastic to the field,
Or play-ground, scarce the well stuff'd leathern

Springs from the earth so light, so swift as he: And well he earns the sports he well enjoys, For from the morning's dawn o'er learning's


His steady eye has por'd till eventide.

Early he awoke; scarcely had chanticleer
Announc'd Aurora's orient blushing beams,
When from the turret of the classic dome.
The bell importunate, rang shrill and loud,
And call'd him from his pillow; up he sprang,
Shaking soft slumbers from his shining eyes,
And eager to renew his daily task.
First lowly on his knees with orisons
His Father high in heaven he supplicates
To bless his earthly father, her that bore him,
Friends, tutors, all that watch with anxious care
To guide his footsteps in the paths of peace:
Then to the limpid spring he hies, and laves
In the cold element his morning face.
His flowing locks well kempt, all neat and

As vernal violets wash'd with drops of dew,
He takes his seat upon the classic bench,.
With Lily's volume duly op'd before him,
And cons the task to memory assign'd,
Repeating rules of grammar o'er and o'er
With patience unsubdu'd; for now and then
He sweetens toil with gingerbread's nice cakes,
Or apples pär'd unseen beneath the form,
Or conversation softly interchang'd
Of nests, slides, marbles, weighty cares,
Yet not unpleasing; till now the busy school
Glows with a general hum, as when in May
The bees go forth to rifle honied flowers,
They buzand murmur, yet no labour slight,
But bring home luscious loads to enrich the

The morning part well sail, new cares suc...ceed;

For now the authors of a golden age,
Virgil and Horace, Tully's copious page,
And Honier's manly melody invite

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Harmonious; polish'd is his ear, and keen
His intellect, he hears, he tastes, he feels,
Till his whole soul elate with ecstacy,
Catching the flame of genius, boldly dares
To emulate the beauties he admires:
Hence in the evening exercise the theme
Pregnant with moral truth, express'd in style
Purely Augustan; one day sure to grace
The bar, the pulpit, or the author's page,
Himself to aggrandize, and serve mankind.
Nor seldom does the stripling snatch the lyre,
And strike the deep-ton'd shell. Alcæus now
He emulates; whose sinewy nervous lines
Pour forth like Handel's strains-full harmony;
And now he sings with Sappho softly sweet;
The liquid measures flow like honied drops
That trickle from the dodal cells of bees,
Adonis closing the mellifluent lay
With gentlest cadence. Listen yet once more
'Tis elegy I hear; the mournful verse
Is simple; yet is nature's voice, and comes
Directly from the heart;-and to the heart
It deeply pierces; I could weep, and smile
To think I wept-how plaintive are the not.
Like such as oft I hear the nightingale
Modestly warble from the thicket shade,
Concealment seeking, yet betray'd by tones
Softer and sweeter than Italia's sons"
Strain from their throats to raptur'd theate
But not to ode and elegy alone

His ardour leads; 1s emulative skill
In epigram he tries; and many a point
Which Martial might not blush to own,
In classical expression neat and terse.
Oft on the banks of Medway, near the do
Of Sydney's noble race, he sits reclin'd,
And meditates the verse where Waller sat
And sung his Sacharissa; by his side
Horace and Ovid. While the trembling
With Hy appendant lures the golden chub,
His pencil in his hand, he studious notes
Some bright idea, or some polish'd phrase
Suggested by the Muse, that haunts the gr
Of Penshurst, classic ground: if Britain's i
Can claim such ground, then Penshurst
[wild serer

the claim, Though solitude now reigns, and the heret Drowns with his din the song of Philomel.

The task now finish'd, to the master's eve The stripling bard submits with anxiousher. Happy, thrice happy could it meet with pr His bosom throbs, till soon the judge's brow That frown'd terrific, gentler looks assume; He calls the urchin with a friendly voice, And stroking his curl'd locks, “fisgood,” k cries,

And to reward thy well-done task I grant "A holiday." Strait all the air resounds A holiday! loud shouts from infant lips Proclaim a holiday! Out they eager rush

To snatch the licens'd joy; each moment lost
Seems like an hour. Take, O take your fill,
Ye innocent tribes, nor let severity
Too rigorous, rob you of the fleeting.day:
'Tis brief at best, and hardly shall ye know
In life's most boasted years a purer bliss
Or more exalted. Fly then o'er the lawn,
Climb yonder hill-expatiate thro' the grove,
Or from the river's margin plunge into the wave.
Why need I urge? already they are gone;
Some in the limpid stream already merg'd,.
Their pastime take and cleave the ambient wave,
Orbuoyant on the surface float supine,
Sporting like Halycons on the smooth expanse.
Thus nerv'd with added strength they urge the

At cricket, manly game! the boast of Kent,
Tunbridge's sons against all England's race;
Nor last, tho' least, the sprightly boys of Judd,
Scorning to be surpass in school, or field.

Others, as seasons urge, with weary eye
Search every thicket for the mossy nest;
And, thoughtless of the wrong, the eggs despoil,
Blue as the ethereal concave streak'd or vein'd
By nature's pencil with a thousand dyes.
Oh! my companions! rob not the poor bird,
For many a pang she feels; but be content
With viewing the fair prize, and leave it there.
Sweetly the song from yonder hawthorn bush
Shall pay your generous pity as you pass,
And conscious virtue shall a bliss bestow,
Which rapine, tho' successful, never tastes,
Though India's gems enrich the plunderer.
Trust not in wrong and robbery for happiness,
Nor, when autumnal suns the pensile fruit
Matures, and on the southern garden wall
Blushes the nectar'd peach like Hebe's cheek,
O'erleap the fence. Oh, turn thy roving eye
From orchards rich with vegetable gold.
The pippin and the pear; but learn, like me,
The ripen'd cherry, shining, sleek, and plump,
To view with all the stoic's apathy.
I hate the purple cluster of the grape
When, out of reach, it peeps between the leaves
Half shewn and half conceal'd, to tempt the


Insidious beauty! Comrade, touch it not;
If e'er in evil hour thou pluck the fruit
Unlawful, thou shalt rue it, short-liv'd sweet
Follow'd by bitterness. The owner sees
L'aseen, and tells your master of thy theft. -
Then lo, the birchen fasces-hateful twigs ;
Down go the galligaskins; sighs and sobs
Too plainly tell what penalties and woes
Brings disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree. Then learn content:
A little weekly stipend is thine own,
And freely use it, as 't was given for use.
Joes thy mouth water? See the matron's stall,
lums, nuts and apples, ranged in tempting
nvite, nor rigid Prudence bids forbear; [rows,
here purchase, paying ready cash, and eat,
Welcome as nuts to thee, thy mite to her.
Enjoy thy feast, poor imp, and freely taste,
-o fears or qualins empoisoning the regale;

Then, with light heart, and pockets lighter
Eas'd of thy money-root of every ill! [still,
Away again to drive the circling hoop,
Or spin the top, or knuckle down at taw.

But now the shades of eve and turret bell
Proclaim the holiday too soon expired.-
"In, boys! all in, boys!" Instant to the school
Repairing, low they bend to that high Pow'r
That guards them from the noontide heat,
The pestilence that walketh in the night,
And out of mouths of sucklings and of babes
Ordained praise. The choral hymn and pray'r
Ascends like incense to the throne of heaven.

And now all weary, and with eyes half-clos'd,
Down on the couch they sink, nor sooner down
Than sleep seals up their lids: how hash'd the
The merry noise that echo'd o'er the field [din,
The live-long day! "Tis silent all and sull"
Along the chambers of the dormitory,
Save where a gentle breathing sooths the ear,
Or now and then a voice that talks in sleep :
For many a vision, or fantastic dream,
Hovers around their pillows; rivers, groves,
Birds, nests, on tops of tallest trees are seen,
With callow young, or eggs of varied hue;
Goldfinches, linnets lined with twigs,
Or shared in traps, or gudgeons on the hook:
The orchard's charms with added lures appear,
Already up the tree they seize the prize;
The plums and pippins, pears of freshest hue,
Clusters of grapes, no longer out of reach,
Distil nectareousjuices on their lips,
Which seem to smack again: so strong and trus
Imagination's pencil paints the scene.
Thus cheard by slumbers and a holiday,
With double diligence they ply the task
Upon the morrow: then vacation's good
When to ingenuous minds allowed it gives
A spur to industry, and to genius fire.

Rest and alternate labour, these combined
With discipline shall form the emulous youth
To high accomplishments in liberal arts;
And when his friends and country call him
To generous service in busy life, [forth
With energetic force he acts his part
With strict propriety, fitted for each place
However arduous in the social scene.
Happy and honour'd, prominent he stands
Among the sons of men; and lustre flings
Back on the place where education stored
His mind with arts that taught him to excel.
Pardon my daring, if amid this group
Of school-boys, who, beneath your fostering

The inuses, graces, virtues, cultivate,
I venture to foretel that, spurning ease,
Some shall emerge, and add to the renown
Of Tunbridge school; an ancient hoary seat
Of classic institution, favour'd long
By patronage of men whose liberal souls,
Amid the cares of gain, commercial toils,
Chief cause of Britains proud pre-eminence,
Still find an hour to listen to the muse,
And honour arts which seek no sordid pelf,
And add a grace to life, and build up man.

O'tis a noble edifice; and here
The solid basis must be firmly laid
In elemental lore. The pious Judd
Some centuries past here placed the corner
His sons, disdaining to degenerate, [stone:
Support and deck the pile. Tis nobly done,
And merits praise, which, though our hearts
can feel,
Our tongues want words to speak in language
A school-boy I-you've heard my artless
Tis a true picture of my simple life; [tale,

Then how should I in language adequate
Describe your merits? Tis a copious theme,
And asks a genius, as your bounty large.
But this I know, instructed in the arts
Of elegance and taste beneath this roof,
And cherish'd by your smiles, the day may


When I may strike the lyre with manly grace,
And justify the favour which e'en now
Indulgence, blinding judgment, has bestow
Tunbridge, May 9, 1802. Τ.Κ.


On a very rich Gentleman drinking the Waters' As Will along the floor had laid
of Tunbridg Welis, who had refused to can-
tribute to the Relief of a distressed Family.
FOR deepest woes old Harpax scorns to feel;
Think ye his bowels stand in need of steel?

His lazy limbs in solemn show,
"You 're ill," quoth Sal," I'm sore afrai
Indeed," says Will, I'm rather low."

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To a Lady, with the Print of Venus attiredly the Graces.

THAT far superior is thy state

Even envy must agree;
On thee a thousand Graces wait,
On Venus only three.

To a Gentleman who was obliged to retre
fear of disagreeable Retaliation.
THAT Cotia is so pale, so spare,

No cause for wonder now affords;
He lives, alas! on empty fare,
Who lives by eating his own words.

On the Duchess of Devonshire. ARRAY'D in matchless beauty, Devon's! In Fox's favour takes a zealous part? But, oh! where'er the pilferer comes-bew. She supplicates a vote, and steals a heart

A Case of Conscience; submitted to a late Dig- On the Phrase "killing Time." Translat

nitary of the Church, on his Narcotic Exposition of the following Text: "Watch and "Pray, lest ye enter into Temptation."

BY our pastor perplext,

How shall we determine?

"Watch and Pray," says the Text, Go to Sleep," says the Sermon.

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THE gdy Flirtilla shew'd her mimic bust,

And ask'd blunt Senso if't were fashion'd just. [you, "Ma'am," he replied, "in this 'tis tnuch like "The face is painted, and that hadly too."

An Expostulation.

The Clown's Reply. GOLDSMITH. OHN Trott was desired by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears: "An't please you," quoth John, “I'm not "given to letters, [betters: "Nor dare I pretend to know more than my "Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see

" your graces,


WHEN late I attempted your pity to move," As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on

Why seem'd you so deaf to my prayers? Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love But why did you kick me down stairs?

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A Parody on "Blest as the immortal Gods is he." By the Honourable HENRY ERSKINE. DRUNK as a dragon sure is he,

The youth that dines and sups with thee; And sees, and hears thee, full of fun, Loudly laugh, and quaintly pun. Twas this first made me love my dose, And rais'd such piniples on my nose; For, while I fill'd to ev'ry toast, My health was gone, my senses lost. I found the claret and champagne Inflame my blood, and mad my brain; The toast fell falt'ring from my tongue, I hardly heard the catch I sung. I felt my gorge and sickness rise; The candles danc'd before my eyes; My sight grew dim, the room turn'd round, I tumbled senseless on the ground!

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An Elegy on the Glory of her Sex. By the same.
GOOD people all with one accord,

Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning;
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, with silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size;
She never slumber'd in her pew-

But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,

By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has follow'd her

When she has walk'd before.
But now, her wealth and finery fled,.
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,
Her last disorder-mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore;

For Kent-street well may say,
That, had she liv'd a twelvemonth more,
She had not died to-day.

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