us, scarcely any
exertion of fortitude or despair is too great to be looked for in that
total deprivation of all worldly interest consequent to such
misfortunes. Whether that train of melancholy ideas which her own fate
suggests is sufficiently removed from narration to be natural, or not
near it enough to be clear, the judgment of others must determine. No
wish or determination to have it one way or another, in sentiment,
stile, or story, influenced its composition; though, occasionally, lines
previously written are interwoven; and, in one instance, a few that have
been published.

* * * * *

Her Twelve Lays are added in a second Appendix, as curious in
themselves, and illustrative of the manners and morals of an age when
they formed the amusement of the better orders.

THE LAY OF MARIE.

CANTO FIRST.

The guests are met, the feast is near,
But Marie does not yet appear!
And to her vacant seat on high
Is lifted many an anxious eye.
The splendid show, the sumptuous board,
The long details which feuds afford,
And discontent is prone to hold,
Absorb the factious and the cold;--
Absorb dull minds, who, in despair,
The standard grasp of worldly care,
Which none can quit who once adore--
They love, confide, and hope no more;
Seek not for truth, nor e'er aspire
To nurse that immaterial fire,
From whose most healthful warmth proceed
Each real joy and generous deed;
Which, once extinct, no toil or pain
Can kindle into life again,
To light the then unvarying eye,
To melt, in question or reply,
Those tones, so subtil and so sweet,
That none can look for, none repeat;
Which, self-impell'd, defy controul,--
They bear the signet of the soul;
And, as attendants of their flight,
Enforce persuasion and delight.

Words that an instant have reclin'd
Upon the pillow of the mind,
Or caught, upon their rapid way,
The beams of intellectual day,
Pour fresh upon the thirsty ear,
O'erjoy'd, and all awake to hear,
Proof that in other hearts is known
The secret language of our own.
They to the way-worn pilgrim bring
A draught from Rapture's sparkling spring;
And, ever welcome, are, when given,
Like some few scatter'd flowers from heaven;
Could such in earthly garlands twine,
To bloom by others less divine.

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