nce view'd the passing shew;
And oft' he scratch'd his pate with manful grace,
And scorn'd to pull the bonnet o'er his face;
But did with steady look unmoved wait,
Till hindmost man had turn'd the church-yard gate;
Then turn'd him to his cot with visage flat,
Where honest Tray upon the threshold sat.
Up jump'd the kindly beast his hand to lick,
And, for his pains, receiv'd an angry kick.
Loud shuts the flapping door with thund'ring din;
The echoes round their circling course begin,
From cot to cot, in wide progressive swell,
Deep groans the church-yard wall and neighb'ring dell,
And Tray, responsive, joins with long and piteous yell.

A LAMENTATION.

Where ancient broken wall encloses round,
From tread of lawless feet, the hallow'd ground,
And somber yews their dewy branches wave
O'er many a motey stone and mounded grave:
Where parish church, confus'dly to the sight,
With deeper darkness prints the shades of night,
And mould'ring tombs uncouthly gape around,
And rails and fallen stones bestrew the ground:
In loosen'd garb derang'd, with scatter'd hair,
His bosom open to the nightly air,
Lone, o'er a new heap'd grave poor Basil bent,
And to himself began his simple plaint.

"Alas! how cold thy home! how low thou art!
Who wert the pride and mistress of my heart.
The fallen leaves light rustling o'er thee pass,
And o'er thee waves the rank and dewy grass.
The new laid sods in decent order tell
How narrow now the space where thou must dwell.
Now rough and wint'ry winds may on thee beat,
And drizzly drifting snow, and summer's heat;
Each passing season rub, for woe is me!
Or storm, or sunshine, is the same to thee.
Ah, Mary! lovely was thy slender form,
And sweet thy cheerful brow, that knew no storm.
Thy steps were graceful on the village-green,
As tho' thou had'st some courtly lady been:
At church or market, still the gayest lass,
Each younker slack'd his speed to see thee pass.
At early milking, tuneful was thy lay,
And sweet thy homeward song at close of day;
But sweeter far, and ev'ry youth's desire,
Thy cheerful converse by the ev'ning fire.
Alas! no more thou'lt foot the grassy sward!
No song of thine shall ever more be heard!
Yet now they trip it lightly on the green,
As blythe and gay as thou hadst never been:
The careless younker whittles lightsome by,
And other maidens catch his roving eye:
Around the ev'ning fire, with little care,
The neighbours sit, and scarcely miss thee there;
And