II. SPENSER. THE ALLEY. I. IN ev'ry Town, where Thamis rolls his Tyde, 5 The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall: How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so! Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall, And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call. II. And on the broken pavement, here and there, A brandy and tobacco shop is near, And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by; 10 15 At ev'ry door are sun-burnt matrons seen, hood I ween. III. The snappish cur, (the passengers annoy) 20 The whimp'ring girl, and hoarser-screaming boy, The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise, IV. Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch, 25 30 Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days V. 35 Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand, NOTES. 40 45 Ver. 30. Baskets of fish] How different from those enchanting imitations of Spenser, The Castle of Indolence and the Minstrel! VI. Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town, All up the silver Thames, or all adown; 51 Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are ey'd Vales, spires, meand'ring streams, and Windsor's tow'ry pride. III. WALLER. ON A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE. 5 FAIR Charmer, cease, nor make your voice's prize A heart resign'd the conquest of your eyes: Well might, alas! that threat'ned vessel fail, Which winds and lightning both at once assail. We were too blest with these enchanting lays, Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays: But killing charms your lover's death contrive, Lest heav'nly music should be heard alive. Orpheus could charm the trees: but thus a tree, Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he : A poet made the silent wood pursue, This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too. 11 On a FAN of the Author's design, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI. COME, gentle Air! th' Æolian shepherd said, Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, 5 10 At Random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives: She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies. In the following love-verses is a strain of sensibility which the reader will be pleased, I suppose, to see, being now first published from a manuscript of Mr. Gray: "With beauty, with pleasure, surrounded, to languish, To weep without knowing the cause of my anguish ; To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morning, To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected, Words that steal from my tongue by no meaning connected; |