And noting, ere they fade away,

The little lines of yesterday.

FLORIO had gain'd a rude and rocky seat,

When lo, the Genius of this still retreat!

Fair was her form-but who can hope to trace

The pensive softness of her angel-face?

Can VIRGIL'S verse, can RAPHAEL's touch impart

Those finer features of the feeling heart,

Those tend'rer tints that shun the careless eye,

And in the world's contagious climate die?

She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there;

Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air,

Had breath'd a soft enchantment o'er his soul!

In every nerve he felt her blest controul!

What pure and white-wing'd agents of the sky,

Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy,

Inform congenial spirits when they meet?

Sweet is their office, as their nature sweet!

FLORIO, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, Till thro' a vista's moonlight-checquer'd shade, Where the bat circled, and the rooks repos'd, (Their wars suspended, and their counsels clos'd) An antique mansion burst in awful state,

A rich vine clustering round its Gothic gate.

Nor paus'd he there. The master of the scene
Saw his light step imprint the dewy green;
And, slow-advancing, hail'd him as his guest,
Won by the honest warmth his looks express'd.
He wore the rustic manners of a 'Squire;

Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire;
But giant Gout had bound him in her chain,

And his heart panted for the chase in vain.

Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing power!

Wing'd with delight Confinement's lingering hour.

The fox's brush still emulous to wear,

He scour❜d the county in his elbow-chair;

And, with view-halloo, rous'd the dreaming hound, That rung, by starts, his deep-ton'd music round.

Long by the paddock's humble pale confin'd,

His aged hunters cours'd the viewless wind:
And each, with glowing energy pourtray'd,

The far-fam'd triumphs of the field display'd;
Usurp'd the canvas of the crowded hall,

And chas'd a line of heroes from the wall.

There slept the horn each jocund echo knew,
And many a smile and many a story drew!
High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung,
And their fantastic branches wildly flung.

How would he dwell on each vast antler there!

This dash'd the wave, that fann'd the mountain-air.

Each, as it frown'd, unwritten records bore,

Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.

But why the tale prolong?-His only child,

His darling JULIA on the stranger smil'd.

Her little arts a fretful sire to please,

Her gentle gaiety, and native ease,

Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed

Her golden lights and tints of rosy red:

But ah! few days had pass'd, ere the bright vision

fled!

When evening ting'd the lake's ethereal blue,

And her deep shades irregularly threw;

Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove,

Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove; d

Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper'd rite,

Amus'd the fisher's solitary night:

And still the mitred window, richly wreath'd,
A sacred calm thro' the brown foliage breath'd.

The wild deer, starting thro' the silent glade,
With fearful gaze their various course survey'd.
High hung in air the hoary goat reclin'd,

His streaming beard the sport of every wind;
And, as the coot her jet-wing lov'd to lave,
Rock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave;

The eagle rush'd from Skiddaw's purple crest,

A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.

And now the moon had dimm'd, with dewy ray,

The few, fine flushes of departing day;

O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung,

And her broad lights on every mountain flung;