POETRY. 561 



When stretch'd ou fever's sleepless bed, 



And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, 

 " 'Tis comfort still," I faintly said, 



" That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" 

 Like freedom to the time-worn slave, 



A boon 'tis idle then to give; 

 Relenting nature vainly gave 



My life, when Thyrza ceas'd to live ! 



My Thyrza's pledge in better days. 



When love and life alike were new ! 

 How different now thou meet'st my gaze ! 



How ting'd by time with sorrows hue '. 

 The heart that gave itself with thee 



Is silent — ah, were mine as still ! 

 Though cold as e'en the dead can be. 



It feels, it sickens with the chill. 



'J 



Thou bitter pledge ! thou mournful token ! 



Though painful, welcome to my breast! 

 Still, still, preserve that love unbroken. 



Or break the heart to which thou'rt prest ! 

 Time tempers love, but not removes, 



More hallow'd when its hope is fled : 

 Oh ! what are thousand living loves 



To that which cannot quit the dead ? 



THE PATRON. 



From Crabbe's Tales. 



A BOROUGH-BAILIFF, who to law was train'd, 



A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd ; 

 He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd. 

 And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd ; 

 He saw where others fail'd, and care had he, 

 Others in him should not such failings see : 

 His sous in various busy states were plac'd, 

 And all began the sweets of gain to taste; 

 Save John, the younger ; who, of sprightly parts. 

 Felt not a love for money-making arts : 

 In childhood feeble, he, for country air, 

 Had long resided with a rustic pair; 

 All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs, 

 Qf lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs ; 

 Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight, 

 For breach of promise, guilty men to fright: 

 Love, marriaiie, murder, were the themes, with these. 

 All that on idle, ardent spirits seize ; 



Robbers 



