Within her hand a vacant string she holds,
That once connected many a mystic bead;

The blotted fcroll, the other hand unfolds,
Contains the maxims of her flighted creed,

Couch'd at her feet behold a mould'ring shrine, (Of various relics once the dread abode) Where runs the fpider o'er his treach'rous line,

Where lurks the beetle and the loathsome toad.

On darkness' wing now fails the midnight hour,
When, for the founds of ill-directed pray'r*,
The fhrieking owl from yon monaftic tow'r

With notes of horror wakes her trembling ear.

Alluding to the invocation of faints,

EPITAPH

È PI TAP H

ON

JAMES

ROBSON,

WHO DIED IN THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF HIS AGE, BY A FALL FROM HIS HORSE.

To mark

O mark the hapless Youth's difaftrous doom,

The forrow-wedded Father rears the tomb,

On which a Mother wishes to express

The mingled pride that fwells with her diftrefs:
For he was all Affection could defire,

All Duty afk'd, all Friendship could require:
Simplicity was his, with ftrength of mind,
With ev'ry milder influence combin'd;
While Virtue, eager to complete the whole,
Diffus'd her magic colour o'er the foul !

A SONG,

A SONG*.

WAKE, wake the gently-plaintive string

To foothe ELIZA's care!

Draw from her wound th' invenom'd fting,
Yet leave meek Sorrow there.

*These words are retained, in confideration of the honour they have obtained, by having been fet to music by the BARON NOLEKEN, the Swedish Ambaffador; Mr. MELLISH; and Mr. ADAM, organist.

THE

THE

RISE AND PROGRESS

OF THE

SCANDINAVIAN POETRY.

A POE M.

IN TWO PARTS.

1