FEaGMEJN'T; 



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And hark, how merrily, from distant tower. 

 Ring round the village bells ! now on the gale 

 They rise with gradual swell, distinct and loud ; 

 Anon they die upon the pensive ear, 

 Melting in faintest music. — They bespeak 

 A day of jubilee, and oft they bear 

 Coramixt along the unfrequented shore, 

 The sound of village dance and tabor loud, 

 Startling the musing ear of solitude. 



Such is the jocund wake of Whitsuntide, 

 When happy Superstition, gabbling eld ! 

 Holds her unhurtful gambols. — All the day 

 The rustic revellers ply the mazy dance, 

 On the smooth-shaven green, and then at eve 

 Commence the harmless rites and auguries ; 

 And many a tale of ancient days goes round. 

 They tell of wizard seer, whose potent spells 

 Could hold in dreadful thrall the labouring moon, 

 Or draw the fix'd stars from their eminence, 

 And still the midnight tempest. — Then anon, 

 Tell of uncharnerd spectres, seen to glide 

 Along the lone wood's unfrequented path, 

 Startling the nighted traveller ; while the sound 

 Of undistinguish'd murmurs, heard to come 

 From the dark centre of the deep'ning glen. 

 Struck on his frozen ear. 



Oh, Ignorance, 

 Thou art fall'n man's best friend ! With thee he speeds 

 In frigid apathy along his way, 

 And never does the tear of agony 

 Burn down his scorching cheek ; or the keen steel 

 Of wounded feeling penetrate his breast. 



E'en now, as leaning on this fragrant bank, 

 I taste of all the keener happiness 

 Which sense refined affords — E'en now my heart 

 Would fain iijduce me to forsake the worlfl. 



