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The upland shepherd rears his modest home;

There wanders by a little nameless stream
That from the hill wells forth, bright now and clear,
Or after rain with chalky mixture grey,
But still refreshing in its shallow course

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The cottage garden; most for use design'd,
Yet not of beauty destitute. The vine
Mantles the little casement; yet the briar
Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers;
And pansies ray'd, and freak'd and mottled pinks

Grow among balm, and rosemary and rue;
There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow
Almost uncultur'd: some with dark green leaves
Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white;
Others like velvet robes of regal state

Of richest crimson; while, in thorny moss
Enshrin'd and cradled, the most lovely wear
The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek.—
With fond regret I recollect e'en now
In Spring and Summer what delight I felt
Among these cottage gardens, and how much
Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush
By village housewife or her ruddy maid,
Were welcome to me; soon and simply pleas'd,
An early worshipper at Nature's shrine,
I lov'd her rudest scenes-warrens, and heaths,
And yellow commons, and birch-shaded hollows,
And hedgerows, bordering unfrequented lanes
Bower'd with wild roses, and the clasping woodbine,
Where purple tassels of the tangling vetch
With bittersweet and bryony inweave,

And the dew fills the silver bindweed's cups-
I lov'd to trace the brooks whose humid banks
Nourish the harebell, and the freckled pagil;
And stroll among o'ershadowing woods of beech,
Lending in Summer from the heats of noon
A whispering shade; while haply there reclines
Some pensive lover of uncultur'd flowers,
Who from the tumps, with bright green mosses clad,
Plucks the wood sorrel with its light thin leaves,
Heart-shap'd, and triply-folded, and its root
Creeping like beaded coral; or who there
Gathers, the copse's pride, anemones,
With rays like golden studs on ivory laid
Most delicate: but touch'd with purple clouds,
Fit crown for April's fair but changeful brow.

ANNA SEWARD.

SONG.

FROM thy waves, stormy Lannow, I fly;

From the rocks, that are lash'd by their tide;

From the maid, whose cold bosom, relentless as they, Has wreck'd my warm hopes by her pride!—

Yet lonely and rude as the scene,

Her smile to that scene could impart

A charm, that might rival the bloom of the vale-
But away, thou fond dream of my heart!
From thy rocks, stormy Lannow, I fly!

Now the blasts of the winter come on,
And the waters grow dark as they rise!
But 'tis well! they resemble the sullen disdain
That has lour'd in those insolent eyes.
Sincere were the sighs they represt,

But they rose in the days that are flown!
Ah, nymph! unrelenting and cold as thou art,
My spirit is proud as thine own.

From thy rocks, stormy Lannow, I fly!

Lo! the wings of the sea-fowl are spread
To escape the loud storm by their flight;
And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat

From the winds and the billows of night;

Like them, to the home of my youth,

Like them, to its shades I retire;

Receive me, and shield my vex'd spirit, ye groves, From the pangs of insulted desire!

To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu!

DARWIN.

MARCH OF CAMBYSES.

WHEN Heaven's dread justice smites in crimes o'ergrown
The blood-nurs'd tyrant on his purple throne,
Gnomes! your bold forms unnumber'd arms outstretch,
And urge the vengeance o'er the guilty wretch.
Thus when Cambyses led his barbarous hosts
From Persia's rocks to Egypt's trembling coasts,
Defiled each hallow'd fane, and sacred wood,
And, drunk with fury, swell'd the Nile with blood;
Wav'd his proud banner o'er the Theban states,
And pour'd destruction through her hundred gates;
In dread divisions march'd the marshall'd bands,
And swarming armies blacken'd all the lands,
By Memphis these to Ethiop's sultry plains,
And those to Ammon's sand-encircled fanes.
Slow as they pass'd the indignant temples frown'd,
Low curses muttering from the vaulted ground;
Long aisles of cypress wav'd their deepen'd glooms,
And quivering spectres grinn'd amid the tombs ;
Prophetic whispers breath'd from Sphinx's tongue,
And Memnon's lyre with hollow murmurs rung;
Burst from each pyramid expiring groans,
And darker shadows stretch'd their lengthen'd cones,
Day after day their dreadful rout they steer,
Lust in the van, and rapine in the rear.

Gnomes! as they march'd, you hid the gather'd fruits, The bladed grass, sweet grains, and mealy roots; Scar'd the tired quails, that journey o'er their heads, Retain'd the locusts in their earthy beds;

Bade on your sands no night-born dews distil,
Stay'd with vindictive hands the scanty rill.
Loud o'er the camp the fiend of Famine shrieks,
Calls all her brood, and champs her hundred beaks;

O'er ten square leagues her pennons broad expand,
And twilight swims upon the shuddering sand;
Perch'd on her crest the griffin Discord clings,
And giant Murder rides between her wings;
Blood from each clotted hair, and horny quill,
And showers of tears in blended streams distil;
High pois'd in air her spiry neck she bends,
Rolls her keen eye, her dragon-claws extends,
Darts from above, and tears at each fell swoop
With iron fangs the decimated troop.

Now o'er their head the whizzing whirlwinds breathe,
And the live desert pants, and heaves beneath;
Tinged by the crimson sun, vast columns rise
Of eddying sands, and war amid the skies,
In red arcades the billowy plain surround,
And whirling turrets stalk along the ground.
-Long ranks in vain their shining blades extend,
To demon-gods' their knees unhallow'd bend.—
Wheel in wide circle, form in hollow square,
And now they front, and now they fly the war,
Pierce the deaf tempest with lamenting cries,

Press their parch'd lips, and close their bloodshot eyes. -Gnomes! o'er the waste you led your myriad powers, Climb'd on the whirls, and aim'd the flinty showers! Onward resistless rolls the infuriate surge,

Clouds follow clouds, and mountains mountains urge; Wave over wave the driving desert swims,

Bursts o'er their heads, inhumes their struggling limbs;
Man mounts on man, on camels camels rush,

Hosts march o'er hosts, and nations nations crush,-
Wheeling in air the winged islands fall,

And one great earthy ocean covers all!

Then ceased the storm,-Night bow'd his Ethiop brow
To earth, and listen'd to the groans below,―
Grim Horror shook,-awhile the living hill
Heaved with convulsive throes,-and all was still!

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