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-On the fierce flames the slower impetuous falls,
And sudden darkness shrouds the shatter'd walls;
Steam, smoke, and dust, in blended volumes roll,
And night and silence repossess the pole.
Where were ye, Nymphs! in those disast'rous

hours,
Which wrap'd in flames Augusta's sinking towers ?
Why did ye linger in your wells and groves,
When sad Woodmason mourn'd ber infant loves?
When thy fair daughters with unheeded screams,
Ill-fated Molesworth! call'd the loitering streams -
The trembling nymph, on bloodless fingers hung,
Eyes from the tottering wall the distant throng,
With ceaseless shrieks her sleeping friends alarms,
Drops with singed hair into her lover's arms,-
The illumin'd mother seeks with footsteps fleet,
Where hangs the safe balcony o'er the street,
Wrap'd in her sheet her youngest hope suspends,
And panting lovers it to her tiptoe friends ;
Again she hurries on affection's wings,
And now a third, and now a fourth, she brings;
Safe all her babes, she smooths her horrent brow,
And bursts through bickering flames, unscorch'd

below: So, by her son arraigned, with feet upshod O’er burning bars indignant Emma trod,

E'en on the day when Youth with Beauty wed, The flames surprised them in their nuptial bed; Seen at the opening sash with bosom bare, With wringing hands, and dark disheveld hair,

The blushing bride with wild disorder'd charms
Round her fond lover winds her ivory arms;
Beat, as they clasp, their throbbing hearts with fear,
And many a kiss is mixed with mạny a tear ;-
Ah me! in vain the labouring engines pour
Round their pale limbs the ineffectual shower!
- Then crash'd the floor, while shrinking crowds

retire,
And Love and Virtue sunk amid the fire ! -
With piercing screams afflicted strangers mourn,
And their white ashes mingle in their urn.

THE HEROIC ATTACHMENT OF THE YOUTH IN HOL

LAND, WHO ATTENDED HIS MISTRESS IN THE PLAGUE.

FROM CANTO IV.

Thus when the Plague, upborne on Belgian air,
Look'd through the mist and shook his clotted hair ;
O’er shrinking nations steer'd malignant clouds,
And rain's destruction on the gasping crowds;
The beauteous Ægle felt the venom'd dart,
Slow roll'd her eye, and feebly throbb'd her heart;

· When the plague raged in Holland, in 1636, a young girl. was seized with it, had three carbuncles, and was removed to a garden, where her lover, who was betrothed to her, attended her as a nurse, and slept with her as his wife. He remained uninfected, and she recovered, and was married to hiin. The story is related by Vinc. Fabricius, in the Misc. Cur. Ann. II. Obs. 188.

270

O POORTIT

Ye wrecl
Yet poortit

An' 'twe
O why shoi

Life's de
Or why sae

Depend

This warld'

Its pride Fie, fie on

That he

Each fervid sigh seem'd shorter than the last,
And starting Friendship shuna'd her, as she pass’d.
-With reak unsteady step the fainting maid
Seeks the cold garden’s solitary shade,
Sinks on the pillowy moss her drooping head,
And prints with lifeless limbs her leafy bed.
-On wings of love her plighted swain pursues,
Shades her from winds, and shelters her from dews,
Extends on tapering poles the canvas roof,
Spreads o'er the straw-wove mat the flaxen woof,
Sweet buds and blossoms on her bolster strows,
And binds his kerchief round her aching brows;
Soothes with soft kiss, with tender accents charms,
And clasps the bright infection in his arms.-
With pale and languid smiles the grateful fair
Applands his virtues, and rewards his care;
Mourns with wet cheek her fair companions fled
On timorous step, or number'd with the dead;
Calls to her bosom all its scatter'd rays,
And pours on Thyrsis the collected blaze;
Braves the chill night, caressing and caress'd,
And folds her hero-lover to her breast.-

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Her een sa

How she But pruder

She talk

O wha can

And sic O wha can

And sae

Les bold, Leander at the dusky hour
Eyed, as he swam, the far love-lighted tower;
Breasted with struggling arns the tossing wave,
And sunk benighted in the watery grave,
Less bold, Tobias claim'd the nuptial bed
Where seren fond lovers by a fiend had bled-
And dove, instructed by his angeland
The anamur'd deman from the

-Sylphs! while your winnowing pinions fann'd the

air, ..
And shed gay visions o'er the sleeping pair ;
Love round their couch effused his rosy breath,
And with his keener arrows conquer'd Death.

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JAMES BEATTIE.

BORN 1735.-DIED 1803.

JAMES BEATTIE was born in the parish of Lawrence Kirk, in Kincardineshire, Scotland. His father, who rented a small farm in that parish, died when the poet was only ten years old; but the loss of a protector was happily supplied to him by his elder brother, who kept him at school till he obtained a bursary at the Marischal college, Aberdeen. At that university he took the degree of master of arts; and, at nineteen, he entered on the study of divinity, supporting himself, in the mean time, by teaching a school in the neighbouring parish. Whilst he was in this obscure situation, some pieces of verse, which he transmitted to the Scottish Magazine, gained him a little local celebrity. Mr. Garden, an eminent Scottish lawyer, afterwards Lord Gardenstone, and Lord Monboddo, encouraged him as an ingenious young man, and introduced him to the tables of the

of the ! 1753 ex.

Oiled

neighbouring gentry, an honour not usually extended to a parochial schoolmaster. In 1757, he stood candidate for a mastership of the high-school of Aberdeen. He was foiled by a competitor, who surpassed him in the minutiæ of Latin grammar; but his character, as a scholar, suffered so littlė by the disappointment, that at the next vacancy he was called to the place without a trial. He had not been long at this school, when he published a volume of poems, in 1761, which it speaks much for the critical clemency of the times) were favourably received, and highly commended in the English Reviews. So little satisfied was the author himself with those early effusions, that, excepting four, which he admitted to a subsequent edition of his works, he was anxious to have them consigned to oblivion; and he destroyed every copy of the volume which he could procure. About the age of twenty-six, he obtained the chair of Moral Philosophy, in the Marischal college of Aberdeen, a promotion which he must have owed to his general reputation in literature: bụt it is singular, that the friend who first proposed to solicit the High Constable of Scotland to obtain this appointment, should have grounded the proposal on the merit of Beattie's poetry. In the volume already mentioned, there can scarcely be said to be a budding promise of

genius.

Upon his appointment to this professorship, which he held for forty years, he immediately prepared a

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