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With fearless good humour did Mary comply,
And her way to the abbey the bent;
The night it was dark, and the wind it was high,
And as hollowly howling it fwept through the sky;
She fhiver'd with cold as fhe went.

O'er the path, fo well known, ftill proceeded the maid,
Where the abbey rofe dim on the fight;

Through the gateway fhe enter'd, she felt not afraid,
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their fhade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.

All around her was filent, fave when the rude blast
Howl'd difmally round the old pile;

Over weed-cover'd fragments ftill fearless the pafs'd,
And arriv'd at the innermoft ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle.

Well pleas'd did the reach it, and quickly drew near,
And haftily gather'd the bough;

When the found of a voice feem'd to rife on her ear—
She paus'd, and fhe liften'd, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now.

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head:
She liften'd-naught elfe could the hear.

The wind ceas'd, her heart funk in her bofom with dread,
For fhe heard in the ruins, diftinctly, the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a wide column, half breathlefs with fear,
She crept to conceal herself there:

That inftant the moon o'er a dark cloud fhone clear,
And the faw in the moon-light two ruffians appear,
And between them a corpfe did they bear.

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurry'd by-

It blew off the hat of the one, and, behold!
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd:
She fell-and expected to die.

"Curfe the hat!" he exclaims; "nay come on, and first "hide

"The dead body," his comrade replics

She beheld them in fafety pass on by her fide,
She feizes the hat, fear her courage fupply'd,

And fast through the abbey the flies.

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She ran with wild fpeed, fhe rufh'd in at the door,
She gaz'd horribly eager around;

Then her limbs could fupport their faint burthen no more,
And exhaufted and breathlefs fhe funk on the floor,
Unable to utter a found.

Ere yet her pale lips could the flory impart,
For a moment the hat met her view;

Her eyes from that object convulfively start,
For, O God! what cold horror thrill'd thro' her heart,
When the name of her Richard she knew.

Where the old abbey ftands, on the common hard by,
His gibbet is now to be feen;

Not far from the inn it engages the eye;
The trav❜ller beholds it, and thinks with a figh
Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

THREE BLACK CROWS.

BYROM.

Tone took the other, britkly, by the hand ;
WO honeft tradesmen meeting in the Strand,

Hark-ye, faid he, 'tis an odd ftory this,
About the crows!-I don't know what it is,
Reply'd his friend-No! I'm furpris'd at that;
Where I come from, it is the common chat:

But you fhall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing fo ftrange,
A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in fhort, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.
Impoffible!-- Nay, but it's really true;

I have it from good hands, and fo may you→

From whole, I pray! fo having nam'd the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.o
Sir, did you tell relating the affair

Yes, Sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Afk Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows, not three.

Refolv'd to trace fo wondrous an event,
Whip, to the third, the virtuofo went.
Sir,-and fo forth-Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the cafe-
Where may I find him?-Why, in fuch a place.
Away goes he, and having found him out,
Sir, be fo good as to refolve a doubt—
Then to his laft informant he referr'd,
And begg'd to know, if true what he had heard;
Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow?-Not I!-
Blefs me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;
And here I find all comes at last to none!

Did you fay nothing of a crow at all?
Crow-Crow-perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over-And pray, Sir, what was't?—
Why, I was horrid fick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was as black, Sir, as a crow.

SONNET.

Saw a cryftal ftream glide fwiftly by,

And many a bubble on its breaft it bore,
Which, quickly burfting, vanish'd from my eye,
And scarcely was created, ere no more.
I faw the western fky with gold o'erfpread,
Glowing with purple and with crimson bright;
A minute pafs'd-and every tint was fled

And loft, and blended with oblivious night.

On thee, O wretched man! my thought was turn'd;
For thee th' involuntary tear did flow;
Thy fleeting happiness I inly mourn'd;

For, ah! by fad experience, well I know,
Life's faireft views are but an airy dream,

Frail as the transient cloud, or bubble on the ftream.

THE SAILOR-AN ELEGY.

ROGERS.

THE ning turrets bluely fade;

HE Sailor fighs as finks his native shore,

He climbs the maft to feaft his eyes once more,
And bufy Fancy fondly lends her aid.

Ah! now, each dear, domeftic fcene he knew,
Recall'd and cherifh'd in a foreign clime;
Charms with the magic of a moonlight view;
Its colours mellow'd, not impair'd, by time.
True as the needle, homeward points his heart,
Through all the horrors of the ftormy main;
This the laft wifh with which its warmth could part,
To meet the smile of her he loves again.

When Morn first faintly draws her silver line,

Or Eve's grey cloud descends to drink the wave; When fea and fky in midnight darkness join, Still, ftill he views the parting look she gave.

Her gentle fpirit, lightly hov'ring o'er,

Attends his little bark from pole to pole; And, when the beating billows round him roar, Whispers sweet Hope to foothe his troubled foul. Carv'd is her name in many a spicy grove, In many a plantain forest, waving wide; Where dufky youths in painted plumage rove, And giant palms o'er-arch the yellow tide. But, lo! at laft, he comes with crowded fail!

Lo! o'er the cliff what eager figures bend!

And, hark! what mingled murmurs fwell the gale!
In each he hears the welcome of a friend.

'Tis fhe, 'tis fhe herfelf! fhe waves her hand!
Soon is the anchor caft, the canvas furl'd;
Soon, through the whit'ning furge, he fprings to land,
And clafps the maid he fingled from the world.

DOMESTIC PEACE.

COLERIDGE.

ELL me, on what holy ground
May Domeftic Peace be found?
Halcyon daughter of the fkies,
Far on fearful wings fhe flies
From the pomp of fceptred flate,
From the rebels' noify hate.
In a cottage vale fhe dwells,
Lift'ning to the fabbath bells!
Still around her steps are feen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien;
Love, the fire of pleafing fears;
Sorrow, fmiling through her tears;
And, confcious of the paft employ,
Mem'ry, bofom-fpring of joy."

THE FROGS-AN ODE.

PINDAR.

A Thoufand frogs, upon a fummer's day,

Were fporting midft the funny ray,

In a large pool reflecting ev'ry face;
They fhow'd their goid-lac'd clothes with pride,
In harmlefs fallies frequent vied,

And gambol'd through the water with a grace.

It happen'd that a band of boys,

Obfervant of their harmless joys,

Thoughtless, refolv'd to spoil their happy sport;

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