Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt ;
Whose vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt
Befide fome lonely wall,
Or fhatter'd ruin of a mofs-grown tow'r,
Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour,
Thro' each rough chink the folemn orb of night
Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.
Away, ye elves, away:
Shrink at ambrofial morning's living ray;
That living ray, whofe pow'r benign
Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,
Where, thron'd in artless majesty,
The cherub Beauty fits on Nature's rustic shrine.
ATHELWOLD, THE HUSBAND OF ELFRIDA, IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABSENT.
The turtle tells her plaintive tale,
Séquefter'd in fome fhadowy vale;
The lark in radiant æther flotes,
And fwells his wild extatic notes:
Meanwhile on yonder hawthorn fpray
The Linnet wakes her temp'rate lay;
She haunts no folitary fhade,
She flutters o'er no fun-fhine méad,
No love-lorn griefs deprefs her fong,
No raptures lift it loudly high,
But foft fhe trills, amid th' aerial throng,
Smooth simple strains of fob'reft harmony.
Sweet bird! like thine our lay fhall flow,
Nor gaily loud, nor fadly flow;
For to thy note fedate, and clear,
CONTENT ftill lends a lift'ning ear.
Reclin'd this moffy bank along,
Oft has she heard thy easy song :
Why hears not now? What fairer grove
From Harewood lures her devious love?
What fairer grove than Harewood knows,
More woodland walks, more fragrant gales,
More woodbine bowers, inviting soft repose,
More streams flow-wand'ring thro' her winding vales.
III.
Perhaps to fome lone cave the Rover flies,
Where lull'd in pious peace the hermit lies.
For, fcorning oft the gorgeous hall,
Where banners wave with blazon'd gold,
There will the meek-ey'd nymph delight to call,
And with the folemn feer high converse hold.
There, goddefs, on the fhaggy mound,
Where tumbling torrents roar around,
Where pendant mountains o'er your head
Stretch their formidable fhade;
You liften, while the holy feer
Slowly chaunts his vefpers clear;
Or of his fparing mefs partake,
The fav'ry pulfe, the wheaten cake,
The bev'rage cool of limpid rill.
Then, rifing light, your hoft you blefs,
And o'er his faintly temples bland distill
Seraphic day-dreams of heav'ns happiness.
Where'er thou art, enchanting maid,
Thou foon wilt fmile in Harewood's fhade:
Soon will thy fairy feet be seen,
Printing this dew-impearled green;
Soon fhall we mark thy geftures meek,
Thy glitt'ring eye, and dimpled cheek,
What time thou feek'ft, with willing hafte,
Thy lovelieft throne, ELFRIDA's breast.
There feated on that iv'ry shrine,
Where all the Loves and Graces lye,
With them your hands shall mutual chaplets twine,
And weave immortal wreaths of peace and joy.
And, hark, compleating our prophetic ftrain,
The fleet hoof rattles o'er the flinty plain;
Now nearer, and now nearer founds.
Avaunt! ye vain, delufive fears.
Hark! Echo tells thro' Harewood's ampleft bounds,
That Love, Content, and ATHELWOLD appears.
Whence does this fudden luftre rise,
That gilds the grove? not like the noon-tide beam Which sparkling dances on the trembling ftream, Nor the blue lightning's flash fwift-shooting thro' the skies.
But fuch a folemn steady light,
As o'er the cloudlefs azure fteals,
When CYNTHIA riding on the brow of night,
Stops in their mid career her filver wheels.
Whence can it rife but from the fober pow'r
Of CONSTANCY? fhe, heav'n-born queen
Defcends, and in this woodbine-vested bower
Fixes her ftedfast reign:
Stedfaft, as when her high command
Gives to the ftarry band
Their radiant stations in heav'n's ample plain.
In which ATHELWOLD and ELFRIDA had been juft exchanging profeffions of their mutual fidelity.
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