When spent with toil, our midnight pray'r I close,
And for an hour indulge in frail repofe,
Infidious dreams my former years renew,
And all the Louvre rushes to my view;
My Laura comes, fhe leads the regal ball,
Ador'd by thoufands, and admir'd by all;
A hundred fighing nobles bend the knee;
In vain they bend, her eyes are fixt on me.
I grafp her hand, we fly to myrtle groves,
She fmiles, the yields, the answers all my loves;
I throw my eager arms-fhe's gone, fhe's fled,
And lo! once more the coffin ftrikes me dead.

I ftart, I fhriek, I call on heav'n to blefs,
And plunge within our foreft's laft recess;
My aged head receives the dripping fleet;
The favage brier wounds my naked feet;
Unusual horror chills the facred grove,
The fprings, the earth, the foreft feem to move;
My fpirits faint, my haggard eye-balls swim,
And cold convulfions rack each tottering limb,
When lo! fhe pafles in a flaining cloud,

A headless form, and fhews the bloody fhroud!

God of my foul! without thy ftrength'ning grace,
How weak, how poor, how blind is human race!
To found thy praife ten thousand worlds agree,
And nature lifts the grateful fong to thee,

To thee with awe the brute creation bends,
When thunder burfts, or fickly rain defcends.
Obedient to thy will, the rocks and trees,
Now reft in fnow, now blefs the vernal breeze;
Yet man, prefumning on his glimmering sense,
Rash man alone difclaims thy providence;
The truth he dare not controvert, denies,
And 'gainst conviction fhuts his ears and eyes,

O fatal error! heav'n alone bestows,
Joy free from pain, and undisturb'd repofe.
In thy vain world our best enjoyments grofs,
Allay'd and ftain'd by fin's offenfive drofs:
Howe'er difguis'd, rank paffion rules us ftill,
And each, in fact, indulges but his will;
That will, as changeful as an infant's mind,
Shifts there, now here, and veers with every wind.

One

One with indulg'd, another frenzy leads,
Another and another yet fucceeds.
Till injur'd reaíon abdicates her poft,
And in the monster all the man is loft.

Not fo, my friend, we pass the filent hours,
In thofe fecluded woods and moffy tow'rs.
Here pure religion tolls our only bell,
Here true devotion warms each humble cell;
Here contemplation clears the clouded eye,
Expands the foul and lifts it to the sky;
Propitious angels blefs our frequent calls,
And faints who reft retir'd within thofe walls.
Thefe, these alone our tottering steps attend,
Confirm our faith, and hell's dark wiles forefend:
On that curs'd night how black th'infernal scene,
When fiends ufurp'd my Laura's heavenly mien :
They broke the clouds, they bade the storm retire,
And all my bofom own'd celeftial fire.

Ill-fated Laura, had I never known

Thy matchlefs form, I then had finn'd alone,

A length of years fevereft penitence,

And hourly pray'rs might expiate my offence.

But you, alas! you faw the early tomb,
Unvers'd in heav'n, in youth's intemperate bloom:
When flattering tongues impart deftructive fires,
And melt the yielding foul to loose defires;
Thefe warp the foul from virtue's awful shrine,
And well I know that heavy guilt was mine.
On that curs'd pride which obftinately blind
Seduces man, and rules the fofter kind,
Inflam'd by love, with guileful art I wrought,
And shut thy mind against each fober thought;
O dire reflection! flattery fuppreft

The holy flame that should have fir'd thy breaft
Religion else had lent her heav'nly grace,
And ftampt thy mind as beauteous as thy face;
Indulgent faints thy lovely eyes had clos'd
In blifs, and all thy foul with God repos'd.

;

"Thou traitor, falfeft of thy perjur'd race! (She fternly cries) haft ftol'n my foul from grace; "For thee I'm doom'd to bear an age of pain, "To call on heaven, and yet to call in vain ; "Confin'd in night, I feel the fcorching flame, "Or bitter frofts congeal my tender frame ;

" Or

"Or yok'd with dæmons, cleave the murky air,
"To banish reft, and scatter wild despair:
“And doft thou, monster, doft thou hope to win
"Eternal blits, and leave me drown'd in fin?
"Forbid it truth, my ghoft fhall meet thy eyes,
“ And heav'n, just heav'n will listen to my cries."

Ye hoary woods, and defolated cells,
Ye barren rocks, where favage horror dwells,
I'll brave your rage, if mercy can be wrought,
And tenfold penitence erafe her fault.

Let fpring produce nor herbage, fruit nor flow'r,
Let haggard winter all the year devour

Where I fhall roam; let rains and tempests blow,
And owls and ravens fend the scream of wo:
Let thunder burft, let mountain torrents roar,
And wolves furround me on fome defert fhore:
Let curfes, plagues, diftempers on me fall,-
Forgive but Laura, and I'll bear them all.

Mean while, dear friend, my fimple shroud I spread,
And now prepare my laft, and welcome bed;
Yon funeral torch, and flowly-moving bier,
Remind my foul that Death is ever near;
But Death to us no palled terror brings,
We court his fithe, and brave his feeble stings ;
Rejoice to fee a brother gain the fkies,
The man we pitied, but the faint we prize.

Here, here, my friend, my plain rough coffin stands,
Prepar'd and wrought by these laborious hands;
It calms my fpirit, drives vain thoughts away,
And reconciles me to my kindred clay;

I fleep in hope, I fpurn my follies paft,
And fondly with each fleep may prove my laft;
Refign'd devotion o'er my cavern reigns,

And peace.

except poor Laura intervenes.

But you, my friend, whom mortal paffion warms,
To whom fair Italy expands her charms,

Who rove enamour'd thro' the fragrant woods,
Or hang in raptures o'er the limpid floods;
Where foft Tibullus kindled loose defire,
And lofty Maro ftrung the epic lyre;

Immers'd in vain delights, perchance may deem
Thofe lines a frantic bigot's fickly dream :-

3

Alas!

;

Alas! thou'rt wrong; correct thy fond mistake,
And, ere too late, my fober counsel take
Difmifs thy follies, fet thy fpirit free
From fin and death, and taste pure joys with me:
With thee in youth the paths of vice I trod,
Indulg'd each appetite, nor thought of God;
For me its charms that flattering region fpread,
And pleasure courted to her lufcious bed ;
Where nature, rob'd, in conftant beauty fhines,
And still on nature polish'd art refines

Where clustering vines adorn the fruitful hills,
Ten thousand flowrets deck the cryftal rills;
Sweet groves of myrtle fhade the blooming vale,
And loved rapture fwells each balmy gale;
Where beauty fpreads her heart-feducing fmiles,
And all the magic of Circean wiles;
The practis'd glance, the modulated lay,
That melts the foul, and charms the fenfe away,
Where arts on arts enormous vice disguise,
And fhew her pleafing e'en to fober eyes;
Till late remorfe in fqualid weeds appears,
His lean, wan visage, drown'd in useless tears;
Reflection wakes, diftracted confcience wounds,
And grim despair the proftrate wretch confounds.

Alas! my friend, how happier our repofe,
We feel the comforts peace with hope beftows,
Surrounding faints our humble cells defend,
And holy vifions on our sleep descend,
Repeated prayers fin by fin deface,
And every hour we gain a step to grace;
Our only emulation to excel

In works of faith-But hold-I hear our bell-
Some friend I ween, who flies this mortal ftrife,
And bends his course to everlasting life.

O matchless pow'r of unaffected grace,
E'en now a faint has clos'd his tedious race;
Celeftial raptures fparkled in his eyes,
And fmiling angels bore him to the skies;
My brother once, together oft we pray'd,
And oft conforted in the holy fhade,
Refembling fortune bade our fouls agree
In ftricter bonds, for he had lov'd like me;
Like me in vain; like me in youth retir'd:
All-pitying heaven, had Laura thus expir'd!

And

And what avails this tenement of clay !
Death hourly faps the bafe, and melts away;
All nature yields to his defpotic will,
And all the elements confpire to kill:
E'en whilft I write, a hecatomb expires,
All young, all vain, all forming new defires;
And now the fun emits a feeble ray

On yonder grove, and fhuns the parting day,
The world around an awful filence keeps,
And, as if dead, the whole creation fleeps.

I pant for heaven-avaunt my former fears!
When worlds are wreckt, and spheres encounter fpheres,
When death refigns her empire o'er the ball,
All nature finks, and time itself muft fall;
And foon, full foon, that awful day may come,
I'll burft my shroud, and fly to Laura's tomb:
Then fhall that face, which bafely rent away,
Alas! now lies with undiftinguish'd clay,
Join'd to her form in primal beauty rife,
We'll foar to blifs, we'll feek the opening skies,
There ftrong in hope our mutual paffions own,
And plead our loves at God's indulgent throne.

And if, my friend, you fought this blefs'd retreat,
And fcorn'd the world, my tranfports were compleat,
O hear the call, reject the vale of fin,

Collect thy foul, the glorious work begin,
I'll guide thy fteps, inmortal truths impart,
And next to Laura place thee in my heart.

The HERMIT, a BALLAD, fuppofed to be written by

"TUR

Dr. GOLDSMITH.

URN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,

"To where yon taper cheers the vale,
With hofpitable ray.

"For here forlorn, and loft, I tread,

"With fainting steps, and flow;
"Where wilds, immeafurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

Forbear,