But thefe thou must renounce, if luft of wealth E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart; For, ah! it poifons like a fcorpion's dart; Prompting the ungenerous with, the felfish fcheme. The ftern refolve, unmov'd by pity's fmart, The troublous day, and long diftrefaful dream.Return, my roving Mufe, refume thy purpofed theme. XI. There liv'd in Gothic days, as legends tell, But he, I ween, was of the north countrie:* XII. The hepherd-fwain of whom I mention made, And he, though oft with duft and sweet befprent, Did guide and guard their wanderings wherfoe'er they went. * There is hardly an ancient Ballad, or Romance, wherein a Miurel or Harper appears, but he is characterised, by way of eminence, to have been " of the North countrie." It is probable that under this appellation were formerly comprehended all the provinces to the North of the Trent. See Percy's Effay on the English Minstrels. XIII. From labour health, from health contentment fprings. Contentment opes the fource of every joy. He envied not, he never thought of kings; Nor from these appetites fuftain'd annoy, Which chance may fruftrate, or indulgence cloy; Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled; He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor miftrefs coy, For on his vows the blameless Phoebe fmil'd, And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child. XIV. No jealoufy their dawn of love o'ercast, XV. The wight whofe tale thefe artlefs lines unfold, Nor aught that might a strange event déclare.. XVI. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why. The neighbours star'd and figh'd, yet bleft the lad : Some deem'd him wond'rous wife, and fome believ'd him mad. XVII. But why fhould I his childish feats difplay? XVIII. weary team. Th' exploit of itrength, dexterity, or speed, His heart, from cruel fport entranged, would bleed By trap, by net, by arrow, or by fling; And fure the fylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. XIX. Lo? where the ftripling, wrapt in wonder, roves For aught the huntfmien's puny craft supplies? And oft he traced the uplands, to furvey, The crimson clond, blue main, and mountain grey, (finile. But, lo! the fun appears! and heaven, earth, occan XXI And oft the craggy cliff he lov'd to climb, When all in mift the world below was lost. When dreadful pleature! there to ftand fublime, Like shipwreck'd mariner on defart coast, And view th enormous walte of vapour, toft In billows, lengthening to the horizon round, Now fcoop'd in guifs, with mountains now emboss'd! And hear the voice of mirth and fong rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound! XXII. In truth he was a ftrange and wayward wight, Oye XXIII. wild groves, O where is now your bloom!” (The Mufe interprets thus his tender thought.) Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom, Of late fo grateful in the hour of drought! Why do the birds, that fong and rapture brought 'To all your bowers, their manfions now forfake? Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought; For now the storm howls mournful through the brake, And the dead foliage flies in many a fhapeless flake. XXIV. Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, • Fled each fair form, and mute each melting found, • The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray : And, hark! the river, bursting every mound, Down the vale thunders; and with wafteful sway, Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks away. XXV. Yet fuch the deftiny of all on earth : Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, Born on the fwift, though filent, wings of Time, Old-age comes on a pace to ravage all the clime. XXVI. And be it fo. Let thofe deplore their doom, XXVII. Shall I be left abandon'd in the duft, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive? • Shall nature's voice, to man, alone unjust, • Bid him, though doom'd to perif, hope to live? Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive With difappointment, penury, and pain?— |