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Wandering over hill and dale,
Watching of the kneeling saintHearing his groans float on the galeNo wonder thou art tir'd and pale.
Yet I have often seen thee bring
Thy beams o’er yon bare mountain's steep;
Full on the dark and roaring deep;
Sure, that passing blush deceives;
For thou, fair nymph, art chaste and cold! Love our bosoms seldom leaves;
But thou art of a different mould. Hail, chaste queen! for ever hail ! And, prithee, look not quite so pale !
Yet stay—perhaps thou 'st travelld far,
Exulting in thy conscious light; Till, as I fear, some youthful Star
Hath spread his charms before thy sight;
having printed them without her permission. For inserting compositions so much in the spirit of one of the most interesting periods of our early poetry, though the productions of the reign of George III. he cannot think any apology due to the reader.
And, when he found his arts prevail,
(From the same MS.)
WHILE the Moon, with sudden gleam,
Through the clouds that cover her,
Pleas'd I hear thy boding cry!
While the maiden, pale with care,
Wanders to the lonely shade,
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry, -
While the wretch, with mournful dole,
Wrings his hands in agony,
Praying for his brother's soul,
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry,