PART II.

COMPOSING Sleep, Digestion's healthful nurse, Winks on the band; and warning, lest, averse From her dull presence, they her aid dismiss,

Salutes them, yawning, with a sluggard's kiss.
The o'erheated blood, they hear the Power sug-

gest,

Asks instant care, and calming hours of rest.
Thankful they hear, and one by one withdrawn,
Confess her prudence in a drowsy yawn;
Her salutary call convenient judge;

Nor, when unsafe, the dregs of pleasure grudge.
The floating fancies of Repletion's brain

To tell at large, were simple as 'tis vain
Dreams uninspired, of light effect and cause:

Each from late sleep prolong'd refreshment draws;

But not fair Canace: ere this at eve,

She of her father took her custom'd leave,
Unwilling, as becomes the modest fair,

Pale Dissipation's harrass'd looks to wear.

Early she rose, no morning slumber sought;
For the loved presents still engaged her thought,
The wondrous ring, and mirror deem'd so strange.
Oft did her cheek with blushing rapture change;
Nor even in sleep from pleasing care exempt,
The fair one only of her mirror dreamt.

Hence, ere the sun was high, till waking heard
The matrons, to her service proud preferr'd,
She call'd: obedient they attend, but say,

None yet is stirring, and 'tis hardly day.

"Wearied with sleep, 'tis my desire," she cries,

Straight to walk forth, and instant I would rise."

With busy thought, asssured of her resolve,

How best to do her pleasure they revolve.

The train are trooping at her call survey'd ;

Nor later shines, attired, the royal maid

Like the bright sun that, free from clouds, displays
As now, in Aries, more refulgent rays.
Thin vapours only o'er its surface spread,
To sense enlarged, a ruddy light it shed,
When she, in habit for the season fit,

Few of her train, prepared the house to quit.

Along the shady park her way she took,

Fill'd now with joy, where'er she chanced to look,
By every charm that graced the gaudy Spring;
Now struck with wonder at the magic ring,
By which to her the sylvan quire express'd
Their inmost thoughts, yet only sooth'd the rest.
To shun the likeness of a style prolix,
And with no story vain digression mix,
Will profit him who undertakes to rule
The passions, less obedient when they cool.
Lest in my tale description I should waste
On wearied spirits, to its end I haste.

High on a tree, beside whose root the sod,
With sportive joy, the beauteous princess trod,
A falcon perching sent a plaintive sound,
That pierced afar the shadowy region round.
With either wing it smote its breast, that bore
The vestige of its beak, in gushing gore.

By Nature's laws had tears distressful flow'd
From eyes of brutes, that inborn feeling shew'd,
No furious tiger had the sight withstood,

Nor any ruthless rover of the wood.

C &

For to the man who best the merit knew
Of falcons, praise had never seem'd so due;
Nor thus could any shape or plumage boast:
It seem'd some present from a distant coast.
So fast the blood distill'd from every wound,
This falcon nearly with its loss had swoon'd,
And tottering, as it clung, with feeble feet,
Scarce on the branch maintain'd its lofty seat.
The king's fair daughter, Canace, who brought
Not only means to explain her secret thought,
But power sufficient, in the ring she bare,
To hold discourse with every bird of air,
The meaning of its mournful accents knew,
And, with a look of pity, nearer drew.
Below the tree she stretch'd her pendent skirt,
To save in such a fall its limbs from hurt,
When next it fainted, (which might soon arrive,
The falcon scarce, with loss of blood, alive).
There long she stood expecting; but express'd
At last the sympathy that sway'd her breast.
"What is the cause, instruct me," said the fair,
"Why you these unexampled sufferings bear,

"Thrilling each ear with piteous plaints the while? "Is it some favourite's death, or lover's guile?

"For of all ills, to feeling breasts, the chief "Are these, and sources of the bitterest grief. "No other tale, I know, have you to tell, "Who, your own passion's victim, prove full well "That selfish Terror wakes not your regret;

"Nor have I seen a foe your safety threat. "Shew to yourself some pity, I implore;

"Else whither will this tend? for ne'er before "One instance have I view'd, with troubled thought, "Of bird or beast that thus its sorrow sought.

My heart these symptoms of misfortune wring. "Ah! leave yon bough, and truly, as I spring "From royal parents, if the power be mine, "And the sad cause appear why you repine, "Ere night the ill its remedy shall find;

"(So help me, Heaven, as I have this in mind!) "And I, that pain no longer may disturb,

"Will to your wounds apply each healing herb." Then, in the saddest accent, since her birth,

The unhappy falcon shriek'd, and fell to earth.