girls a set of ribands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the superior airs of wisdom.

6

Our family dined in the field, and wę sat, or rather reclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction, two blackbirds answered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. I never sit thus,' says Sophia, but I think of the two lovers, so sweetly described by Mr. Gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it a hundred times with new rapture.' In my opinion,' cried my son, 'the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better; and upon that figure, artfully managed, all strength in the pathetic depends.' 'It is remarkable,' cried Mr. Burchell. 'that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet. Men

of little genius found them most easily imitated in their defects; and English poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connexion; a string of epithets that improved the sound, without carrying on the sense. But perhaps, madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retaliate; and indeed I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least free from those I have mentioned.'

A BALLAD.

"TURN, gentle hermi: of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps, and slow,
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son." the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

Here to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still;

And though my portion is but scânt,
I give it with good-will.

D

Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn ;

Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them:

But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast 1 bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied
And water from the spring.

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego
All earth-born cares are wrong
Man wants but little here below
Nor wants that little long

Soft as the dew from heaven descends
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;

A refuge to the neighboring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily pressed, and smiled
And, skilled in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the heartn
The crackling fagot flies

But nothing could a charm impart
To sooth the stranger's wo;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care oppressed
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?
From better habitations spurned,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?

Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame
But leaves the wretch to weep?
And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest,
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush
And spurn the sex," he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms;-

The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid, in all her charms.

And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn." she cried;
'Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside

But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was marked as mine;
He had but only me.

To win me from his tender arms
Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Among the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.

In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but wo to me
Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain ;

And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain.

Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,

And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.