SCHOOL THE MISTRESS, In Imitation of Spenser, By WILLIAM SHENSTONE. Auditae voces, vagitus et ingens, Infantumque animae flentes in limine primo, VIRGIL. A H me! full forely is my heart forlorn, To think how modeft worth neglected lies, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to fame, They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent, For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are forely fhent. And And all in fight doth rife a birchen tree, Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow, For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew. But their limbs fhudder'd, and their pulfe beat low; And, as they look'd, they found their horror grew, And shap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view. So have I feen (who has not, may conceive) A lifeless phantom near a garden plac'd ; So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave, Of sport, of fong, of pleasure, of repast: They flart, they ftare, they wheel, they look aghaft ; Sad fervitude! Such confortless annoy May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste ! Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy, Ne vifion empty,, vain, his native bliss destroy. Near to this dome is found a patch so green, fo On which the tribe their gambols do difplay; And at the door impris'ning board is feen, Left weakly wights of smaller fize fhould stray, Eager, perdie, to bafk in funny day! The noises intermix'd, which thence refound, Do Learning's little tenement betray; Where fits the dame, difguis'd in look profound, And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel around. Her Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield, Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the hare-bell that adorns the field: And in her hand, for fceptre, fhe does wield Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fear entwin'd, With dark diftruft, and fad repentance fill'd, And ftedfaft hate, and fharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontroul'd, and chaflifement unkind. Few but have kenn'd, in semblance meet pourtray'd, Libs, Notus, Aufter*; thefe in frowns array'd, The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown; 'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own, 'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare ; And, footh to fay, her pupils rang'd around, Thro' pious awe did term it paffing rare ; For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight on ground The fouth west wind, South, &c. Albeit Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth; . But there was eke a mind which did that title love. And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground For well the knew, and quaintly could expound, What fin it were to wafle the smallest crumb fhe found. Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak, The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, Yet Yet euphrafy may not be left unfung, That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue; And plaintain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound; And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume. Nor ever would fhe more with thane and lordling dwell. How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, All for the nonce untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to fing. For |