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SIR ELDRED OF THE BOWER,

By HANNAH MORE.

PART I.

O noftra Vita, ch'e fi bella in vista!
Com' perde agevolmente in un momento,

Quel, ch'en molt' anni a grand pena s' acquista !

PETRARCA

HERE was a young, and valiant Knight,
SIR ELDRED was his name,

T

And never did a worthier wight

The rank of knighthood elaim.

Where gliding Tay, her stream fends forth,
To feed the neighbouring wood,
The ancient glory of the North,.

SIR ELDRED's caftle flood.

The youth was rich as youth might be
In patrimonial dower;

And many a noble feat had he

Atchieved, in hall, and bower.

He did not think, as some have thought,
Whom honoy never crown'd,

The fame a father dearly bought,

Cou'd make the fon renown'd.

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He better thouht, a noble fire,

Who gallant deeds had done,
To deeds of hardihood shou'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 raised the sufferer's name,
He show'r'd his bounty then;
And those who cou'd not prove that claim,
He fuccour'd ftill as men.

But facred truth the Muse compels
His errors to impart;
And yet the Muse reluctant, tells
The fault of ELDRED's heart.

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

Yet

Yet if the passions ftorm'd his foul,
By jealousy led on;

The whirlwind rage disdain'd controul,
And bore his virtues down.

Not Thule's waves so wildly break
To drown the northern shore;
Not Etna's entrails fiercer shake;
Or Scythia's tempelt roar.

As when in summer's sweetesl day,
To fan the fragrant morn,
The fighing breezes fofily tray
O'er fields of ripen'd corn;

Sudden the lightning's blast defcends,
Deforms the ravag'd fields;

At once the various ruin blends,
And all refiftless yields.

But when, to clear his stormy breaft,
The fun of reason shone,
And ebbing paffions funk to reft,
And shew'd what rage had done:

O then what anguish he betray'd!

His shame how deep, how true! He view'd the waste his rage had made And shudder'd at the view.

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The meek-ey'd dawn, in saffron robe,
Proclaim'd the op'ning day,

Up rose 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 hail the universal Lord

Who gave the goodly day.

That done he left his woodland glade,
And journey'd far away :
He lov'd to court the stranger shade,
And thro' the lone vale stray.

Within the bofom of a wood,
By circling hills embrac'd,
A little, modest manfion flood,
Built by the hand of tafte.

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

Of Of

Of eglantine an humble fence

Around the manfion flood,
Which charm'd at once the ravish'd fenfe,
And screen'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 on a brook.

The smallness of the stream did well
The master's fortunes shew;

But little streams may serve to tell
From what a fource they flow.

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

As heaven just shews to human fight
To tell what man shou'd be.

His youth in many a well-fought field
Was train'd betimes to war;
His bosom, like a well-worn shield.
Was grac'd with many a scar,

The vigour of a green old age

His reverend form did bear;
And yet, alas! the warrior-fage
Had drain'd the dregs of care:

:

And

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