Gleam to the morning fun, and dazzle o'er
With many a splendid hue the breezy strand.
Oh there was once a time when Elinor
Gazed on thy opening beam with joyous eye
Undimm'd by guilt and grief! when her full foul
Felt thy mild radiance, and the rifing day
Waked but to pleasure! on thy fea girt verge
Oft England! have my evening fteps ftole on,
Oft have mine eyes furveyed the blue expanfe,
And mark'd the wild wind fwell the ruffled furge,
And feen the upheaved billows' bofomed rage
Rush on the rock; and then my timid foul
Shrunk at the perils of the boundless deep,
And heaved a figh for fuffering mariners.
Ah! little deeming I myself was doom'd
To tempt the perils of the boundless deep,
An Outcast-unbeloved and unbewail'd.
Why ftern Remembrance! must thine iron hand
Harrow my foul? why calls thy cruel power
The fields of England to my exil'd eyes,
The joys which once were mine? even now I fee
The lowly lovely dwelling! even now
Behold the woodbine clafping its white walls
And hear the fearless red-breafts chirp around
To ask their morning meal : for I was wont
With friendly hand to give their morning meal,
Was wont to love their fong, when lingering morn
Streak'd o'er the chilly landscape the dim light,
And thro' the open'd lattice hung my head
To view the fnow-drop's bud: and thence at eve
When mildly fading funk the fummer fun,
Oft have I loved to mark the rook's flow course
And bear his hollow croak, what time he fought
The church-yard elm, whofe wide-embowering boughs
Full foliaged, half conceal'd the house of God.
There, my dead father! often have I heard
Thy hallowed voice explain the wonderous works
Of Heaven to finful man. Ah! little deem'd
Thy virtuous bofom, that thy fhameless child
So foon fhould fpurn the leffon! fink the flave
Of Vice and Infamy! the hireling prey
Of brutal appetite! at length worn out
With famine, and the avenging fcourge of guilt,
Should dare dishonesty-yet dread to die!
Welcome ye favage lands, ye barbarous climes,
Where angry England fends her outcast fons
I hail your joylefs fhores! my weary bark
Long tempeft-toft on Life's inclement fea,
Here hails her haven ! welcomes the drear feene,
The marthy plain, the briar-entangled wood,
And all the perils of a world unknown.
For Elinor has nothing new to fear
From fickle Fortune! all her rankling shafts
Barb'd with difgrace, and venom'd with difeafe,
Have pierced my bofom, and the dart of death
Has lof its terrors to a wretch like me.
Welcome ye marthy Beaths! ye pathlefs woods,
Where the rude native refts his wearied frame
Beneath the sheltering fhade; where, when the form,
As rough and bleak it rolls along the iky,
Benumbs his naked limbs, he flies to feek
The dripping fhelter. Welcome ye wild plains
Unbroken by the plough, undely'd by hand
Of patient ruftic; where for lowing herds,
And for the mufic of the bleating flocks,
Alone is heard the kangaroo's fad note
Deepening in diftance. Welcome ye rude climes,
The realm of Nature! for as yet unknown
The crimes and comforts of luxurious life,
Nature benignly gives to all enough,
Denies to all a fuperfluity.
What tho' the garb of infamy I wear,
Tho' day by day along the echoing beach
I call the wave-worn thells, yet day by day
I earn in honefty my frugal food,
And lay me down at night to calm repose,
No more condemn'd the mercenary tool
Of brutal luft, while heaves the indignant heart
With Virtue's stifled figh, to fold my arms
Round the rank felon, and for daily bread
To hug contagion to my poison'd breaft;
On these wild fhores Repentance' faviour hand
Shall probe my fecret foul, thall cleanse its wounds
And fit the faithful penitent for Heaven.
MARY the MAID of the INN.
7HO is fhe, the poor Maniac, whofe wildly-fix'd eyes
Ween a heart overcharged to exprefs?
She weeps not, yet often and deeply the fighs:
She never complains, but her filence implies
The compofure of fettled diftrefs.
H.
No aid, no compaflion the Maniac will feek;
Cold and hunger awake not her care:
Thro' her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor withered bofom half bare, and her cheek
Has the deathly pale hue of defpair.
Yet chearful and happy, nor distant the day,
Poor Mary the maniac has been ;
The traveller remembers who journeyed this way
No damfel fo lovely, no damfel fo gay
As Mary the Maid of the Inn.
Her cheerful addrefs fill'd the guests with delight
As the welcomed them in with a fmile:
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night
When the wind whiftled down the dark aile..
She loved, and young Richard had fettled the day,
And the hoped to be happy for life?
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they
Who knew him would pity poor Mary and fay
That the was too good for his wife.
"Twas in autumn, and flormy and dark was the night,
And faft were the windows and door ;
Two guests fat enjoying the fire that burnt bright,
And fmoking in filence with tranquil delight
They liften'd to hear the wind roar,
" "Tis pleasant," cried one, "feated by the fire fide "To hear the wind whistle without."
"A fine night for the Abbey !" his comrade replied, "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried "Who fhould wander the ruins about.
"I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear "The hoarfe ivy fhake over my head;
"And could fancy I faw, half perfuaded by fear, "Some ugly old Abbot's white spirit appear,
For this wind might awaken the dead!"
"I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
"That Mary would venture there now."
"Then wager and lofe!" with a fneer he replied,
"I'll warrant fhe'd fancy a ghost by her fide,
"And faint if fhe faw a white cow."
"Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?"
His companion exclaim'd with a smile;
"I fhall win, for I know the will venture there now,
"And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough
"From the elder that grows in the aisle."
With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
And her way to the Abbey the bent:
The night it was dark, and the wind it was high,
And as hollowly howling it swept thro' the iky
She fhiver'd with cold as fhe went.
O'er the path fo well known ftill proceeded the Maid
Where the Abbey rofe dim on the fight,
Thro' the gate-way fhe entered, fhe felt not afraid,
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.
All around her was filent, fave when the rude blast
Howl'd difmally round the old pile;
Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless the past,
And arrived at the innermoft ruin at last
Where the elder tree grew in the aisle.
Well-pleas'd did the reach it, and quickly drew near
And haftily gather'd the bough;
When the found of a voice feem'd to rife on her ear,
She paus'd, and the liften'd, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now.
The wind blew, the hoarfe ivy fhook over her head,
nought elfe could she hear,
The wind ceas'd, her heart funk in her bofom with dread
For fhe heard in the ruins diftin&ly the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind a wide colump half breathlefs with fear
She crept to conceal herself there:
That inftant the moon o'er a dark cloud fhone clear,
And the faw in the moon-light two ruffians appear
And between them a corpfe did they bear.
Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by, -
It blew off the hat of the one, and behold
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd,
She felt, and expected to die.
"Curfe the hat!" he exclaims, "nay come on here, and hide "The dead body," his comrade replies.
She beholds them in fafety pass on by her fide,
She feizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,
And faft thro' the Abbey the flies.
She ran with wild fpeed, the rufh'd in at the door,
She gazed horribly eager around,
Then her limbs could fupport their faint burthen no more,
And exhaufted and breathlefs the funk on the floor
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