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He did not think, as fome have thought,
Whom honour never crown'd,
The fame a father dearly bought,
Cou'd make the fon renown'd.

He better thought, a noble fire,
Who gallant deeds had done,
To deeds of hardihood fhou'd fire
A brave and gallant fon.

The fairest ancestry on earth
Without defert is poor;
And every deed of lofty worth
Is but a claim for more.

Sir ELDRED's heart was good and kind
Alive to Pity's call;

A crowd of virtues grac'd his mind,
He lov'd, and felt for all.

When merit raifed the fufferer's name,

He fhower'd his bounty then ;

And those who could not prove that claim, He fuccour'd still as men.

But facred truth the Mufe compels
His errors to impart ;

And yet the Mufe reluctant tells
The fault of ELDRED's heart :

Tho' kind and gentle as the dove,
As free from guile and art,
And mild, and foft as infant love
The feelings of his heart.

Yet if the paffions ftorm'd his foul,
By jealoufy led on ;

The whirlwind rage difdain'd controul,

And bore his virtues down.

Not Thule's waves fo wildly break
To drown the northern shore ;
Nor Etaa's entrails fiercer fhake;
Or Scythia's tempefts roar.

As when on fummer's fweetest day,
To fan the fragrant morn.
The fighing breezes foftly ftray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;

Sudden the lightning's blaft defcends,
Deforms the ravag'd fields;
At once the various ruin blends,
And all refiftlefs yields.

But when, to clear his ftormy breaft,
The fun of reafon fhone,

And ebb ng paffions funk to rest,
And fhew'd what rage had done.

O then what anguish he betray'd!
His fhame how deep, how true!
He view d the waste his rage
had made,
And fhudder'd at the view.

The meek-ey'd dawn, in faffron robe,
Proclaim'd the opening day.
Up rofe the fun to gild the globe,
And hail the new-born May;

The birds their vernal notes repeat,
And glad the thick'ning grove,
And feather'd partners fondly greet
With many a fong of love;

When pious ELDRED walk'd abroad
His morning vows to pay,
And h the univerfal Lord
Who gave the goodly day.

That done-he left his woodland glade,
And journey'd far away:

He lov'd to court the ftranger fhade,
And thro' the lone vale ftray.

Within the bofom of a wood,
By circling hills embrac'd,
A little, modeft manfion food,
Built by the hand of taste.

While many a prouder caftle fell,
This fafely did endure;
The house where guardian virtues dwell
Is facred, and fecure.

Of Eglantine an humble fence

Around the manfion ftood,

Which charm'd at once the ravish'd sense, And fcreen'd an infant wood.

The wood receiv'd an added grace,
As pleas'd it bent to look,
And view'd its ever verdant face
Reflected in a brook.

The fmallnefs of the ftream did well
The mafter's fortunes fhew;
But little ftreams may ferve to tell
From what a fource they flow.

This manfion own'd an aged Knight,
And fuch a man was he,

As heaven just hews to human fight
To tell what man fhou'd be.

His youth in many a well fought field
Was train'd betimes to war;

His bofom like a well worn fhield,
Was grac'd with many a fear.

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And forrow more than age can break,
And wound its hapless prey;
'Twas forrow furrow'd his firm cheek,
And turn'd his bright locks gray.

One darling daughter footh'd his cares,
A young and beauteous dame;
Sole comfort of his failing years,
And BIRTHA was her name.

Her heart a little facred fhrine,
Where all the Virtues meet;
And holy Hope, and Faith divine,
Had claim'd it for their feat.

She rear'd a fair and fragrant bower

Of wild and ruftic taste,

And there fhe screen'd each fav'rite flower From every ruder blast.

And not a fhrub or plant was there

But did fome moral yield;

For wifdom, by a father's care,

Was found in every field.

The trees whofe foliage fell away,
And with the fummer died,
He thought an image of decay
Might lecture human pride.

While fair, perennial greens that stood,
And brav'd the wintry blaft,

As types of the fair mind he viewed
Which fhall for ever laft.

He taught her that the gaudiet flowers
Were feldom fragrant found,
But waited foon their little powers,
Lay useless on the ground.

While the fweet-fcented rose shall last,
And boat its fragrant power,
When life's imperfect day is past,

And beauty's fhorter hour.

And here the virgin lov❜d to lead
Per inoffenfive day,

And here the oft retir'd to read,

And oft reti'd to pray.

Embower'd the grac'd the woodland fhades,

From courts and cities far,

The pride of Caledonian maids,

The peerless northern star.

As fhines that bright and blazing ftar,
The glory of the night,

When failing thro' the cloudlefs air,
She fheds her filver light.

SO BIRTHA fhone -But when she spoke
The Mufe herself was heard,

As on the ravish'd air she broke,
And thus her prayer preferr❜d.

"O blefs thy BIRTHA, Power Supreme, "In whom I live and move,

"And blefs me molt by bleffing him "Whom more than life I love.".

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