KIRKE WHITE.

ON HEARING AN EOLIAN HARP.

So ravishingly soft upon the tide

Of the infuriate gust it did career,

It might have soothed its rugged charioteer,
And sunk him to a zephyr ;-then it died,
Melting in melody;—and I descried,

Born to some wizard stream, the form appear
Of druid sage, who on the far-off ear

Pour'd his lone song, to which the surge replied:
Or thought I heard the hapless pilgrim's knell,
Lost in some wild enchanted forest's bounds,
By unseen beings sung; or are these sounds
Such, as 'tis said, at night are known to swell
By starting shepherd on the lonely heath,
Keeping his night-watch sad, portending death? ¡

A BALLAD.

Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,'

Ye pelting rains, a little rest:

Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,

That wring with grief my aching breast.

Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To triumph o'er an artless maid;

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