1804.] 
py to fhew them to you, whenever you 
Burnhamize. I mean, before Augut, 
when I propofe making my dear old blind 
friend a vifit at Paris. Nothing elfe would 
carry: me thither. I am too old to feek 
diverfions, and too indolent to remove toa 
Original Poetry. 
129 
diftance by choice; thouch not fo im- 
moveable as you to a much lefs diftance. 
Adieu! pray tell me what you hear is faid 
of Gray’s Life. at Cambridge. 
Your’s ever, 
H. W. 
ORIGINAL POETRY, 
THE FATE OF OSWIN; OR LEGEND But, O God! who can paint her wild grief 
| OF ROSSBERRY. 
“¢ AFH: why do the walls of the caftle to- 
day 
No longer refound with the ftrains of de- 
light ? 
And why does the harp of the minftrel fo _ 
Now reft in the gloom and the ftillnefs of 
night ? 
s¢ But late asI travers’d thefe vallies along, 
How high.’mid the air ftream’d the ban- 
ners of joy ! 
While the birth of Prince Ofwin, the boaft of 
the fong, 
Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam’d in 
each eye.” 
What ftranger art thou, who, in Cleveland fo 
fair, 
Of the fate of Prince Ofwin canft yet be 
untold ? 
How an old hoary fage had forefhewn, the 
young heir 
By water fhould die, when but half a year 
old! 
His mother, all eager her offspring to fave, 
To Otneberg* high, with the morn did 
repair, 
Still hoping torefcue her fon from the grave, 
For well did fhe know that no water was 
there, 
But how powerlefs and vain is a mortal’s de- 
fign, 
Oppos’d to that witx which can never re- 
cede: 
Who fhall pull down the bright orb of heaven 
divine, 
And raife up a meteor his rays to exceed! 
Fatigued, and by ceafelefs exertion oppreft, 
At length they arrive near the brow of the 
hill, 
In whofe fhade on the mofs, they refignthem 
to reft, 
Now fearleis of fate, as uncon{cious of ill. 
Not long in foft flumbers the fond mother lay, 
Ere arous’d by a dream which dire horrors 
betide ; 
pe I a hk 
* The ancient name of the well-known 
Aofty mountain, in the North Riding of York- 
fhire, now called Rofebersry. 
and difmay, 
When fhe faw her lov’d baby lie drown’d 
by her fide! 
eK EK HERE HR EHR K 
On the proud fteep of Otneberg Mill may be 
found 
That fpring which arofe his fad doom to 
complete ; ' 
And oft on its verge fit the villagers round, 
In wonder recording the fiat of fate, 
For this, do the walls of the caftle to-day 
No longer refound with the ftrains of des 
light ; 
And for this, does the harp of the bard once 
fo gay 
Now reft in the gloom and the ftillnets of 
night, 
London, une, 1304. 
M.H. Dare. 
— 
INSCRIPTION FOR A SUMMER HOUSE, 
ORNAMENTED WITH SOME FRAGMENTS 
BROUGHT FROM THE RUINS OF 
: THE RASTILLE. 
Yé who, by Fancy led, delight to trace 
Each fcene where Sculpture did her 
Athens grace; 
By ‘iftory’s torch illumin’d, who explore 
Her time-worn fteps on Tiber’s claific fhore; 
Approacn, and oft as wakes the generous 
mind 
To virtue and the blifs of human-kind ; 
Oft as compaffion afks, yet dreads to know, 
Baftille! the fecrets of thy houfe of-woe ; 
Thefe thapelefs ftones a tranfport fhail ime 
part, 
Beyond the magic energy of art. 
For lo! they tell how Juftice claims her 
fway, 
And guilty dungeons open tothe day: 
Towers, that for ages braved the obfervant 
sie 
Whofe echoes mock’d the captive’s hopelefs 
figh, 
Sink at her fov’reign word to rife no more : 
Let man rejoice, though priefts and kings de- 
plore. 
jit. Re 
ELEGY 
