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As o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad thanes,
The royal Duncan rode in martial pride;
Where full to view, high-topp'd with glittering vanes,
Macbeth's strong towers o'erhung the mountain's side.

In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grizzly form
Rush'd with a giant's stride across his way,
And thus, while howl'd around the rising storm,
In hollow thund'ring accents pour'd dismay.

Stop, O king! thy destin'd course,
Furl thy standard, turn thy horse,
Death besets this onward track,
Come no further-quickly back.

Hear'st thou not the raven's croak?
See'st thou not the blasted oak?
Feel'st thou not the loaded sky?
Read thy danger, king, and fly.

Lo, yon castle banners glare
Bloody thro' the troubled air;
Lo, what spectres on the roof
Frowning bid thee stand aloof!

Murder, like an eagle waits
Perch'd above the gloomy gates,
Just in act to pounce his prey;
Come not near-away! away!

Let not plighted faith beguile
Honour's semblance, beauty's smile;
Fierce ambition's venom'd dart
Rankles in the fest'ring heart.

Treason arm'd against thy life,
Points his dagger, whets his knife;
Drugs his stupifying bowl,

Steels his unrelenting soul.

Now 'tis time, 'ere guilty night
Closes round thee, speed thy flight;
If the threshold once be crost,
Duncan, thou'rt for ever lost.

On he goes!-resistless fate
Hastes to fill his mortal date;

Cease your warnings, vain, tho' true,
Murder'd king, adieu!-adieu !

Dr. Aikin.

TO E. S* * * D.

WHEN shall I, my fair one, say,
Hear thee sing, and hear thee play?
When shall beauties such as thine
Grace this humble spot of mine.
"Tis for thee that blooms the rose,
"Tis for thee the garden glows;
My pinks, and my carnations too,
For thee assume the gayest hue;
"Tis for thee that flows the stream,
Thou, my love's perpetual theme;
But when thou art from my sight,
Music fails to give delight.
All in vain the gardens grow,
All in vain the roses blow;

Pink nor carnation have their charms,
When thou art absent from my arms;

Nor, while the stream in murmurs flows,
Shall I enjoy an hour's repose;

Till thou in pity to my care,

Shall bid me banish my despair,
And, with a voice of love, shall say

For Stephen will I sing and play

The winter's night and summer's day.

Monthly Miscellany.


"AND still shall beauty's fairy charm, "Breathe o'er my soul it's wanton fires; "Still passion wake the fond alarm "Of trembling hopes, of wild desires.

"O fly! thou dear delusive dream,

"O hence! ye scenes, to fancy dear; "No more I'll muse the love-lorn theme, "No more I'll drop the pensive tear.

"Free as the light-wing'd airs of May "That wanton kiss each rosy sweet,

"I'll laugh the moments wild away,

"And court loose pleasure's glitt'ring seat.

"The laugh, the song, and Bacchus' smile, "Shall give to joy the fleeting hour ;

"No more shall love, with secret guile, "Win a soft soul to beauty's power."

Thus spoke the heart from passion free,
And wak'd my soul to fancied joy;
Hail once again lost liberty,

I dread no more th' idalian boy !—

Ah me!-poor, weak, unguarded heart,
I feel return the sick'ning pain;
Yet, yet again the magic dart

Strikes with new force each throbbing vein.

And now again all sad, and slow

I wander thro' the moonlight grove, And strive to charm away my woe, While echoes wild my lute of love.

"Go gentle lute, with softest air

"Breathe pity o'er my Delia's breast ; "Thy sound shall melt the passion'd fair, "Her smile of love shall crown me blest.

"Go gentle lute, for Venus kind

"Bids her wing'd boy thy music swell; "Then happier ton'd, breathe all my woes, "And all thy master's sorrows tell.

"And sure the maid, whose tender eye "Beams as the dewy star of eve,

"Shall yield to love's soft harmony, "And all my fondest vows believe.

"Come golden hours, to fancy dear, "Come hours by love, and Delia blest;

"Then let me lose each idle fear,

"When folded to her snowy breast.

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