DREAM.
FOUNDED ON A FACT .
Where L ORN'S wild hills, in lonely grandeur rise
From th' Atlantic shore, till lost amid the skies,
Immensely throwing, while young Morning smiles,
Their dark'ning shadows o'er the distant isles;
Here, near the border of a ragged wood,
The young Maria'S rural Cottage stood.
Soon as the Night to western skies was borne,
And early Cock proclaim'd the op'ning Morn,
Forth stray'd the blooming Maid, with all her train
Of Bleaters, nibbling o'er th' empurpl'd plain.
High on the summit's brow, or braky Glen ,
Or heathy dale, or near the grassy fen,
Or on the hill, they fed, where blue bells hung
Their nodding heads, high thron'd the sweet Lark sung,
While Rocks around, with lows and bleatings rung.
Here stray'd the S HEPHERDESS , while blazing day
Awoke the warbling choir, and flow'rets gay.
Deep in the shade she shunn'd the sultry air,
Or kept from startling sweep her milky care,
Till in the sea bright Phaebus' chariot roll'd,
Then, singing, wore them homewards to the Fold.
Near her lone Cottage rose the rugged shore,
Where foaming billows rav'd with ceaseless roar;
High, grim, and dreadful hung the gloomy steep,
And tow'r'd black threat'ning o'er the low-sunk deep,
And now 'twas Night — the Maid in bed reclin'd,
The following prospect open'd on her mind.
She dream'd, That careless in the noontide ray,
Stretch'd on a flow'ry bank, she sleeping lay,
When some kind voice, soft whisper'd in her ear,
" Maria ! rise, thy flock hath left thee here " —
Sudden she started, found herself alone,
Around all silent, and her Bleaters gone.
She snatch'd her Crook, flew o'er the lonely dale,
Plung'd thro' the Brook, and gaz'd adown the vale;
But nought appear'd. Again she sought the heath,
Each creek, each hollow view'd with panting breath;
Till, toil'd and faint, the airy steep she gains,
And views enraptur'd, views them on the plains —
Cows, sheep and goats, at once burst on her eye,
Some crop the herbs, while others peaceful lie,
Her little heart expands in an exulting cry.
Yet still she thought, between her and the flock,
Arose a shelvy, black, impervious rock,
Which oft the strove to pass, but strove in vain,
Some pow'r unseen still pull'd her back again.
With toil fatigu'd, she view'd them as they fed,
And on the rock reclin'd her heavy head.
Thus dream'd the Maid, and waking midst the Night,
Beheld, good gods! beheld a horrid sight.
High on a rock's dread verge, hung o'er the main,
Whose far-sunk surge wheel'd round her giddy brain,
Amaz'd she found herself, half clad, alone;
Her hand laid leaning on a jutting stone,
Dark was the night, save where the shrowded Moon,
'Midst dusky clouds, shone on the waste aroun',
And shew'd the horrid steep, a dreadful sight,
Cliff hung o'er cliff, in grim stupendous height.
Back from the threat'ning scene she headlong fled,
Left the whole mass might yield beneath her tread:
Then rais'd the Maid to Heav'n her streaming eyes,
And pour'd her grateful soul in fervent sighs,
To that kind Pow'r, who feeble mortals keeps,
Whose eye, all-seeing, slumbers not nor sleeps;
To whom each Being owes all that he hath,
Each pulse's throb, and each returning breath,
Implor'd his presence, still to guard her path,
Then, rising, sought her Cot along the lonely heath.
FOUNDED ON A FACT .
Where L ORN'S wild hills, in lonely grandeur rise
From th' Atlantic shore, till lost amid the skies,
Immensely throwing, while young Morning smiles,
Their dark'ning shadows o'er the distant isles;
Here, near the border of a ragged wood,
The young Maria'S rural Cottage stood.
Soon as the Night to western skies was borne,
And early Cock proclaim'd the op'ning Morn,
Forth stray'd the blooming Maid, with all her train
Of Bleaters, nibbling o'er th' empurpl'd plain.
High on the summit's brow, or braky Glen ,
Or heathy dale, or near the grassy fen,
Or on the hill, they fed, where blue bells hung
Their nodding heads, high thron'd the sweet Lark sung,
While Rocks around, with lows and bleatings rung.
Here stray'd the S HEPHERDESS , while blazing day
Awoke the warbling choir, and flow'rets gay.
Deep in the shade she shunn'd the sultry air,
Or kept from startling sweep her milky care,
Till in the sea bright Phaebus' chariot roll'd,
Then, singing, wore them homewards to the Fold.
Near her lone Cottage rose the rugged shore,
Where foaming billows rav'd with ceaseless roar;
High, grim, and dreadful hung the gloomy steep,
And tow'r'd black threat'ning o'er the low-sunk deep,
And now 'twas Night — the Maid in bed reclin'd,
The following prospect open'd on her mind.
She dream'd, That careless in the noontide ray,
Stretch'd on a flow'ry bank, she sleeping lay,
When some kind voice, soft whisper'd in her ear,
" Maria ! rise, thy flock hath left thee here " —
Sudden she started, found herself alone,
Around all silent, and her Bleaters gone.
She snatch'd her Crook, flew o'er the lonely dale,
Plung'd thro' the Brook, and gaz'd adown the vale;
But nought appear'd. Again she sought the heath,
Each creek, each hollow view'd with panting breath;
Till, toil'd and faint, the airy steep she gains,
And views enraptur'd, views them on the plains —
Cows, sheep and goats, at once burst on her eye,
Some crop the herbs, while others peaceful lie,
Her little heart expands in an exulting cry.
Yet still she thought, between her and the flock,
Arose a shelvy, black, impervious rock,
Which oft the strove to pass, but strove in vain,
Some pow'r unseen still pull'd her back again.
With toil fatigu'd, she view'd them as they fed,
And on the rock reclin'd her heavy head.
Thus dream'd the Maid, and waking midst the Night,
Beheld, good gods! beheld a horrid sight.
High on a rock's dread verge, hung o'er the main,
Whose far-sunk surge wheel'd round her giddy brain,
Amaz'd she found herself, half clad, alone;
Her hand laid leaning on a jutting stone,
Dark was the night, save where the shrowded Moon,
'Midst dusky clouds, shone on the waste aroun',
And shew'd the horrid steep, a dreadful sight,
Cliff hung o'er cliff, in grim stupendous height.
Back from the threat'ning scene she headlong fled,
Left the whole mass might yield beneath her tread:
Then rais'd the Maid to Heav'n her streaming eyes,
And pour'd her grateful soul in fervent sighs,
To that kind Pow'r, who feeble mortals keeps,
Whose eye, all-seeing, slumbers not nor sleeps;
To whom each Being owes all that he hath,
Each pulse's throb, and each returning breath,
Implor'd his presence, still to guard her path,
Then, rising, sought her Cot along the lonely heath.