Dark HORROR, hear my call! Stern Genius hear from thy retrea… On some old sepulchre’s moss-canke… Beneath the Abbey’s ivied wall That trembles o’er its shade;

Small is the new-born plant scarce… Amid the soft encircling green, Where yonder budding acorn rears, Just o’er the waving grass, its te… Slow pass along the train of years…

Go thou and seek the House of Pra… I to the Woodlands wend, and ther… In lovely Nature see the GOD O… The swelling organ’s peal Wakes not my soul to zeal,

How darkly o’er yon far-off mounta… The gather’d tempest! from that lu… The deep-voiced thunders roll, awe… Tho’ distant; while upon the misty… Fast falls in shadowy streaks the…

‘How does the water Come down at Lodore?’ My little boy asked me Thus, once on a time; And moreover he tasked me

(to a brook near the village of Co… As thus I bend me o’er thy babbli… And watch thy current, Memory’s h… The faint form’d scenes of the dep… Like the far forest by the moon’s…

Fair is the rising morn when o’er… The orient sun expands his roseate… And lovely to the Bard’s enthusia… Fades the meek radiance of departi… But fairer is the smile of one we…

ACT II. SCENE—BLACKHEATH. TYLER, HOB, &c. SONG. ‘ When Adam delv’d, and Eve span,

WOMAN. Sir for the love of God some smal… To a poor woman! TRAVELLER. Whither are you bound?

(Time Night. Scene the woods.) Where shall I turn me? whither sh… My weary way? thus worn with toil… How thro’ the thorny mazes of this… Attain my distant dwelling? that d…

Aye Charles! I knew that this wou… This woodbine wreathing round the… Its leaves just withering, yet one… Still fresh and fragrant; and yon… That thro’ the creeping weeds and…

A wrinkled crabbed man they pictur… Old Winter, with a rugged beard a… As the long moss upon the apple-tr… Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp… Close muffled up, and on thy drear…

The coffin as I past across the l… Came sudden on my view. It was no… A sight of every day, as in the st… Of the great city, and we paus’d a… Who to the grave was going. It wa…

I charm thy life, From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent’s tooth,

The summer and autumn had been so… That in winter the corn was growin… ’Twas a piteous sight to see all a… The grain lie rotting on the groun… Every day the starving poor