ELIZA, SHEEP-SHEARING, DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH, AND ELIZA TO HENRY. LONDON: PRINTED TOR J.T. WARD and COMPANY, o, BREAD STREET-HILL, CHEAPSIDE. 1808, ha ltd ELIZA. Now stood Eliza on the wood-crown'd height, O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight 5 Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife Her dearer self, the partner of her life; From hill to hill the rushing host pursu'd, And view'd his banner, or believ'd she view'd. Pleas'd with the distant roar, with quicker tread Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led ; And one fair girl amid the loud alarm Slept on her -kerchief, cradled by her arm ; While round her brows bright beams of Honour daif, And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart. —Near and more near the intrepid Beauty press'd, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest ; Heard the exulting shout, < They run ! they run !» Great God,' she cried, « he's safe! the battle's won!' —A ball now hisses through the airy tides, (Some Fury wing'd it, and some Daemon guides I) 3 Paris the fine locks, her graceful head that deck, founds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck; he red stream issuing from her azure veins, lyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.— 'Ah me!' she cried, and, sinkino- on the ground iss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound j h, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn ! Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my Love's return !— n Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from tar! 'he angel, Pity, shuns the walks of war!— h spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender a°-e < n me, on me,' she cried, < exhaust your rase!' lien with weak arms her weeping babes caress'd, & sighing hid them in her blood-stain'd vest lorn tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, lariri his heart, and frenzy in his eyes ; fca's name along the camp he calls, k echoes through the canvass walls, lick thro' the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread, > groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, fit o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, ! dead Eliza weltering in her blood !— loon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, f °l )ea arms and sparkling eyes he bounds ^ * Speak low,' he cries, and gives his little hmi, < Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand ; * Poor weeping babe with bloody fingers press'd, * And tried with pouting lips her milkless breast ! * Alas ! we both with cold and hunger quake— « Why do you weep ?— Mamma will soon awake.' —'She'll wake no morel' the hopeless mourner cried Upturn'd his eyes, and clasp'd his hands, and sigli'd Stretch'd on the ground awhile entrane'd he lay, And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay ; And then upsprung with wild convulsive start, And all the Father kindled in his heart ; * Oh, Heavens!' he cried, < my first rash vow forgij 4 These bind to earth, for these I pray to live !' Hound his chill babes he wrapt his crimson vest, And clasp'd them sobbing to his aching breast. SHEEP-SHEARING. j\[ow, jolly 5wains, the harvest of your cares Prepare to reap. It" verdant elder spreads Her silver flowers ; if humble dasies yield To yellow crow-foot and luxuriant gram Gay shearing time approaches. First howe'er, Drive to the double fold upon the brim Of a clear river, gently drive the flock, And plunge them one by one into the flood. PiangM in the flood, not long the struggler sink.?, With his white fhkes, that glisten thro' the tide • The sturdy rustic, in the middle wave, -Waits to seize him rising ; one arm bears ps lifted head above the limpid stream, While the full clammy fleece the other laves Around, laborious, with repeated toil; And then resigns him to the sunny bank, W'erc, bleating loud, he shakes his dripping ] oc fc s . par them the fourth or fifth return of mom, LeSt tmch of b *sy fly-blows wound their skin: 6 Thy peaceful subjects, without murmur, yield Their yearly tribute : 'tis the prudent part To cherish and be gentle ; while ye strip The downy vesture from their tender sides, Press not too close ; with caution turn the points; And from the the bead in reg'lar rounds proceed: But speedy, when ye chance to wound, witfc tar Prevent the wingy swaim and scorching heat ; And careful house them, if the lowering clouds Mingle their stores tumultuous : through the glooi Then thunder oft with pond'rous wheels rolls loud And breaks the crystal urns of heav'n : acjown Palls streaming rain. Sometimes among the steef Of Cambrian glades (pity the Cambrian glades !) Past tumbling brooks on brooks enormous swell, And sudden overwhelm their vanish'd fields : Down with the flood, away the naked sheep, Bleating in vain, are borne, and straw-built t&ts, And rifted trees, and heavy enormous rocks, Down with the rapid torrent to the deep. At shearing-time, along the lively vales,. Rural festivities are often heard : Beneath each blooming arbour all is joy And lusty merriment: while on the grass flic mingled youth in gaudy circles sport, We think the golden age again return'd, And all the fabled Dryades in dance. Leering they bound along, with laughing air, To the shrill pipe, and deep remurm'ring cords Of ancient harp, or tabor's hollow sound ; While th' old apart, upon a bank reclm'd, Attend the tuneful carol, softly mixt With ev'ry murmur of the sliding wave, And ev'ry warble of the feather'd choir : Music of paradise ! which still is heard, [When the heart listens, still the views appear Of the first happy garden, when Content- To nature's flow'ry scenes directs the sight. Yet we abandon those Elysian walks, Then idly for the lost delight repine : h greedy mariners, whose desp'rate sails Ekim o'er the billows of the foamy flood, pney they see the less'ning shores retire, And sigh a farewell to the sinking hills. DOUGLAS TO LORD RANDOLPH, ]V1y name is Norval : on the grampian hills My father feeds his flock ; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied This moon, which rose last night round as my sbifl Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her Hglit, A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, iMislfd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds He For safety, and for succour. I alone, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows Hover'd about the enemy, and raarfc'd The road he took, then hasted to luy friends . 9 IhoBij with a troop of fifty chosen men, met ad vancing . The pursuit I led, we o'ertook the spoil encumberd foe» \Ve fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn, An arrow from ray bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd The shepherd's slothful life, and having heard That our good king had summon'd his bold peers To lead their warriors to the Carron side, I left my father's house, and took with me A chosen servant to conduct my steps: — Ifon trembling coward who forsook his master, Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers, And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do The happy deed that gilds my humble name. ELIZA TO HENRY. What silver sounds, melodious, meet my ear, And mourn responsive on the sighing gale, Dropping, so sweetly sad, the pitying tear O'er the soft sorrows of a recent tale ! Ah me 1 no fancy'd woes I held to view ; The woe-fraught scene is prattled round the coast Too true alas! and pity 'tis, 'tis true — William and Mary were together lost! ]S r ay, start not, Henry ! for 'twas half conceal'd, The simple facts, too copious for my line; Listen ! — ah list ! — the rest shall he reveal'd, Thou wilt not grudge to mingle tears with mine, O ! it will cost me many a pang, I ween, To trace their infant loves, each childish joy, When little Mary crambo] 'd o'er the green With her lov'd William, then a fair-hair 1 d bo v. Fresh like the rosy morn, his cherub face, And, like the berry dark, his laughing eyes ; And Mary's too beam'd sweet with kindred grace, The soft mild blue that paints the azure skies, 11 ft hand ia hand they rambled o'er the plain* Andfill'd their little laps with store of flow'rsl |jid oft pursu'd the gilded fly in vain — These were the pastimes of their earliest hours, pt war's shrill clarion rous'd the youth to arms! To gain for Mary wealth and fair renown, idling he tore him from her blooming charms, And left her weeping, joyless, and forlorn. ill oft retiring from the noisy throng, phide from vulgar eyes the struggling tear* jbrealh'd his constant vows in artless song, Ind pour'd the trembling numbers on her ear. he lorn bird, w ithin the grove re'hM, Trills her sweet notes, the thorn within her breast smgs the swan, her dying notes admir'd, pr own sad requiem to eternal rest, ary,dear maid, though ocean rolls between, And far, far off, is white clifPd Albion's shore, lln c sweet remark of thine illumes each % image breathes in cv'ry op'ning flow'r ; I- * la the carnation, rich with coral glow, < The milder rose-bud, and the jess'mine fair, * Thy lip, thy modest blush, thy skin of snow * And, in the almon'cl brown, thy glossy hair, If the tall palm-tree bows beneath the breeze, < Thy easy shape waves graceful in my view, « If the sweet blue-bell glistens through the trees, 6 Tis Mary's eye impearl'd with pity's dew. Thus would he sing, till years of tedious toil Sweet competency's mead had well acquir'd, He came, full laden with the spoiler's spoil, And, just in view of happiness— expir'd I Ah, what remains to close the dire affair ? Or who can paint the maiden as she stood! Clasping her hands, and frantic with despair, She plung'd, impetuous in the raging Hood! Ah, hapless lovers '.—dear presumptuous maid ! There may thy woes, thy cruel sorrows, cease- Fruitless alas ! is now all human aid, The hand which bruis'd can only give thee pea A diss and Huntsman, 87, Barthoior