And mark how tombs of trophy'd kings Oh! happy Solitude! in thee, For domes where scepter'd monarchs dwell; THE CAVE. British Chronicle. THE wind is up, the field is bare; Some hermit lead me to his cell Behold it opens to my sight, Dark in the rock, beside the flood; Dry fern around obstructs the light; The winds above it move the wood. Reflected in the lake I see The downward mountains and the skies, The flying bird, the waving tree, The goats that on the hills arise. The grey cloak'd herd drives on the cow; The slow-pac'd fowler walks the heath; A freckled pointer scours the brow; A musing shepherd stands beneath. High o'er the ruin of an oak The woodman lifts his axe on high, Some rural maid with apron full, Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss, A lake at distance spreads to sight, One tree bends o'er the naked walls, As blows the blast along the sky. Two sturdy hinds the pinnace guide Holds from the boat th' insidious wood. Beside the flood, beneath the rocks, The wind is rustling in the oak; They seem to hear the tread of feet; They start, they rise, look round the rock; Again they smile, again they meet. But see! the grey mist from the lake Dark storms the murm'ring forests shake, To Damon's homely hut I fly; I see it smoking o'er the plain; When storms are past-and fair the sky, I'll often seek the Cave again. Universal Magazine. 9 EPITAPH. ESCAP'D the gloom of mortal life, a soul Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life; Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys; Like thee, have labour'd in the stormy strife; Ev'n griev'd for trifles, and amus'd with toys. Yet, for a while, 'gainst passion's threatful blast Let steady reason urge the struggling oar; Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last Gives to thy longing eyes the blissful shore. Forget my frailties, thou art also frail; Forgive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall; Now read, unmov'd, my artless tender tale, I was a friend, O man, to thee, to all. Universal Magazine. THE POWER OF INNOCENCE. WHEN first the nuptial state we prove, But when familiar, charms no more Dear pledge of joys she tastes no more; |