Stands but to fall reveng'd on those that dare
Tempt the laft fury of extreme despair.

So fares the fag, among th' enraged hounds,
Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds.
And as a hero, whom his baser foes

In troops furround, now these affails, now thofe,

Tho' prodigal of life, difdains to die

By common hands; but if he can descry
Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls,
And begs his fate, and then contented falls.
So when the king a mortal fhaft lets fly
From his unerring hand, then glad to die,
Proud of the wound, to it refigns his blood,
And ftains the chrystal with a purple flood.
This a more innocent, and happy chace,
Than when of old, but in the self-fame place,
Fair Liberty purfu'd*, and meant a prey
To lawless power, here turn'd, and stood at bay.
When in that remedy all hope was plac'd

Which was, or should have been at least, the last.
Here was that charter feal'd †, wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary pow'r lays down;
Tyrant and slave, those names of hate and fear,
The happier style of king and fubject bear:
Happy, when both to the fame centre move,
When kings give liberty, and subjects love.
Therefore, not long in force this charter ftood;
Wanting that feal, it must be seal'd in blood.
The fubjects arm'd; the more their princes gave,
Th' advantage only took, the more to crave :
Till kings by giving, give themselves away,
And e'en that pow'r, that should deny, betray.

Runny-Mead, where that Great Charter was first fealed. † Magna Charta.

• Who gives constrain'd, but his own fear reviles,

Not thank'd, but fcorn'd; nor are they gifts, but spoils. Thus kings, by grafping more than they could hold, First made their fubjects, by oppreffion, bold; And popular fway, by forcing kings to give More than was fit for fubjects to receive, Ran to the fame extremes; and one excess Made both, by ftriving to be greater, lefs. When a calm river rais'd with fudden rains, Or fnows diffolv'd, o'erflows th' adjoining plains, The husbandmen, with high-rais'd banks, fecure Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure : But if with bays and dams they strive to force His channel to a new or narrow courfe; No longer then within his banks he dwells, First to a torrent, then a deluge fwells; Stronger and fiercer, by reftraint he roars,

And knows no bound, but makes his pow'r his shores.

WRITTEN IN THE WOOD NEAR R CASTLE, M BCC LXII.

BY MR. MICKLE.

Hæc Jovem fentire, Deofque cunctos.

Spem bonam certamque domum reporto.

HE peaceful evening breathes her balmy store,

ΤΗ

The playful school-boys wanton o'er the green:

Where fpreading poplars fhade the cottage-door,
The villagers in ruftick joy convene.

HOR.

*It has been often faid, that Fiction is the moft proper field for poetry. If it is always fo, the writer of this little piece acknowledges it is a circumstance against him. The following Ode was first fuggefted, and the ideas contained in it raised, on revifiting the ruins and woods that had been the fcene of his early amufements, with a deferving brother who died in his twenty-first year.

Amid the fecret windings of the wood,

With folemn Meditation let me ftray; This is the hour when, to the wife and good, The heavenly maid repays the toils of day.

The river murmurs, and the breathing gale
Whispers the gently-waving boughs among;
The ftar of evening glimmers o'er the dale,
And leads the filent hoft of heaven along.

How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,
The filver emprefs of the night appears!

Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,
And faintly in it's breast the woodland bears.

The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,

Solemn and conftant, from yon dell refound; The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade; The bat, low-wheeling, fkims the dusky ground.

Auguft and hoary, o'er the floping dale,

The Gothick abbey rears it's fculptur'd towers; Dull through the roofs resounds the whistling gale, Dark Solitude among the pillars lours,

Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves,
And folemn fhade a chapel's fad remains,
Where yon fcath'd poplar through the window waves,
And, twining round, the hoary arch fuftains;

There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,
Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where,
Some hoary fhepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd,
Pores on the graves, and fighs a broken prayer.

High o'er the pines, that with their darkening shade
Surround yon craggy bank, the castle rears
It's crumbling turrets: ftill it's towery head
A warlike mien, a fullen grandeur wears.

So, midst the fnow of age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare, Tho' trembling o'er the feeble crutch he bends.

Wild round the gates the dusky wall-flowers creep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led ;

Gone is the bower, the grot a ruin'd heap,

Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments fpread.

'Twas here our fires, exulting from the fight, Great in their bloody arms, march'd o'er the lea, Eying their rescu'd fields with proud delight!

Now loft to them!—and, ah! how chang'd to me!

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my Pollio bring;

So fhone the moon through these foft nodding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of spring,

When April's fmiles the flowery lawn adorn,
And modeft cowflips deck the streamlet's fide;

When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn

Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dy'd:

So fair a bloffom gentle Pollio were,

These were the emblems of his healthful mind;

To him the letter'd page difplay'd it's lore,
To him bright Fancy all her wealth refign'd;

Him, with her pureft flames the Mufe endow'd,
Flames never to th' illiberal thought ally'd;
The facred fifters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms; he saw, he felt, and dy'd.

Oh, partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Big with the scenes now paft, my heart o'erflows
Bids each endearment, fair as once to rife,
And dwells luxurious on her melting woes :

Oft with the rifing fun, when life was new,
Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee;
Oft by the moon have brush'd the evening dew,
When all was fearless innocence and glee.

The fainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,
Has oft been conscious of those happy hours;
But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines,
And fainted well, have loft their chearing powers:

For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh, where,
Where haft thou fled, and left me here behind!

My tenderest wish, my heart to thee was bare,
Oh, now cut off each paffage to thy mind!

How dreary is the gulph! how dark, how void,
The trackless shores that never were repafs'd!
Dread feparation! on the depth untry'd,
Hope faulters, and the foul recoils aghast!

Wide round the spacious heavens I cast my eyes :
And shall these stars glow with immortal fire!

Still shine the lifeless glories of the skies!

And could thy bright, thy living foul expire!

Far