VIII.

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul In each fine sense so exquisitely keen, On the dull couch of Luxury to loll, Stung with disease and stupefied with spleen; Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen, Ev'n from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide, (The mansion then no more of joy serene) Where Fear, Distrust, Malevolence, abide, And impotent Desire, and disappointed Pride!

IX.

O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
how canst thou renounce, and hope to be for-
[given!

X.

These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health,
And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart :
But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth
E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart;
For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion's dart;
Prompting the' ungenerous wish, the selfish
scheme,

The stern resolve, unmov'd by pity's smart,

The troublous day, and long distressful dream,— Return, my roving Muse, resume thypurpos'd theme.

XI.

There liv'd in gothic days, as legends tell, A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree; Whose sires, perchance, in Fairy-land might Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady. [dwell, But he, I ween, was of the north countrie :* A nation fam'd for song, and beauty's charms; Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free; Patient of toil; serene, amidst alarms; Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.

XII.

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock; The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never sway'd; An honest heart was almost all his stock; His drink the living water from the rock: The milky dams supplied his board, and lent Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock; And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent, Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.

XIII.

[springs, From labour health, from health contentment Contentment opes the source of every joy: He envied not, he never thought of, kings; Nor from those appetites sustain❜d annoy, That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy : Nor Fate his calm and humble, hopes beguil'd; He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy, For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smil'd, And her alone he lov'd, and lov'd her from a child.

*There is hardly an ancient Ballad, or Romance, wherein a Minstrel or Harper appears, but he is characterized, by way of eminence, to have been "Of the North Countrie." It is pro

XIV.

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,
Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;
Each season, look'd delightful, as it past,

To the fond husband, and the faithful wife :
Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd-life
They never roam'd; secure beneath the storm
Which in ambition's lofty land is rife, [worm
Where peace and love are canker'd by the
Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.

XV.

The wight, whose tales these artless lines unfold,
Was all the offspring of this humble pair:
His birth no oracle or seer foretold:
No prodigy appear'd in earth or air,

Nor aught that might a strange event declare. You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth; The parent's transport, and the parent's care; The gossip's prayer for wealth,and wit,and worth; And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth.

XVI.

And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye : Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy, Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy. Silent, when glad; affectionate, though shy; And now his look was most demurely sad, And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why; The neighbours star'd and sigh'd, yet bless'd the [him mad. Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believ'd

lad;

bable, that under this appellation were formerly comprehended all the prov nces to the north of the Trent.-See Percy's Essay on the English Minstrels.

XVII.

But why should I his childish feats display? Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled; Nor car'd to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps, but to the forest sped, Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head; Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, There would he wander wild, till Phœbus' beam, Shot from the western cliff, releas'd the weary team.

XVIII.

The' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring:
His heart, from cruel sport estrang'd, would bleed
To work the woe of any living thing,

By trap or net; by arrow or by sling;
These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield:
He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king,
Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field:

And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

XIX.

Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine;
And sees, on high, amidst the' encircling groves,
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join,
And Echo swells the chorus to the skies.
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign

For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies? Ah! no he better knows great Nature's charms to

:

prize.

XX.

And oft he trac'd the uplands, to survey,
When o'er the sky advanc'd the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey,
And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn;
Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn,
Where twilight loves to linger for a while;
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,
And villager abroad at early toil,

[smile. But lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean,

XXI.

And oft the craggy cliff he lov'd to climb,
When all in mist the world below was lost :
What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,
Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast,
And view the' enormous waste of vapour tost
In billows, lengthening to the' horizon round,
Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now em
boss'd!

And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar pro[found!

XXII.

In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene:
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight;
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
The southern sun diffus'd his dazzling shene.
Ev'n sad vicissitude amus'd his soul:
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
And down his cheeck a tear pity of roll,

A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control.