THE

PLEASURES

OF

MEMORY.

PART I.

TWILIGHT's foft dews fteal o'er the village-green,

With magic tints to harmonize the scene.

Still'd is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke,

When round the ruins of their ancient oak

The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play,

And

games and carols clos'd the busy day.

5

Her wheel at reft, the matron charms no more

With treasur'd tales, and legendary lore.

All, all are fled; nor mirth nor mufic flows

To chase the dreams of innocent repose.

All, all are fled; yet ftill I linger here!

What penfive sweets this filent spot endear?

1

Mark

yon old Manfion, frowning thro' the trees Whofe hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze.

That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, First to these eyes the light of heav'n convey❜d. The mouldering gateway ftrews the grass-grown cou Once the calm scene of many a fimple sport ;

When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new,

And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew.

20

See, thro' the fractur'd pediment reveal'd,

Where mofs inlays the rudely-fculptur'd fhield,
The martin's old, hereditary neft.

Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest !

As jars the hinge, what fullen echoes call!
Oh hafte, unfold the hofpitable hall!
That hall, where once, in antiquated state,

The chair of justice held the grave debate.

25

Now ftain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung;

When round yon ample board, in due degree,

We sweeten'd every meal with social glee.

The heart's light laugh purfued the circling jeft;

And all was funshine in each little breast.

30

'Twas here we chas'd the flipper by its found; 35

And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round.

'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring;

And Fancy flutter'd on her wildeft wing.

Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear;
And orphan-forrows drew the ready tear.

40

Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood,

Or view'd the foreft-feats of Robin Hood:

Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,

With startling ftep we fcal'd the lonely tower;

O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,

45

Murder'd by ruffian hands, when fmiling in its fleep.

Ye Household Deities! whofe guardian eye

Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high ;

Still, ftill ye walk the confecrated ground,

And breathe the foul of Infpiration round.

50

Twas here we chasid the slipper by its sound.

Published May 29₫ 1793,by T. Cadell Strand.