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Full oft had the year made the forest bough bare,

When the good man grew faint with disease : "Twas then he first trusted his son from his care, Alone thro' the forest, to find for him there,

Some simples his anguish to ease.

Ah! luckless the time, that all wild with dismay

Thou rovest adventurous alone! No medicine fond youth ! did thy searches repay, That might ease of his anguish thy father that day,

No herb that would soften thine own.

To the forest's green verge all unknowing he came, Where two females first met his

young sight : Unusual commotion then shot thro' his frame, He felt a new passion he could not well name,

And pined for some unknown delight.

They vanishid, and back.to his far-distant home,

He wander'd in pensive surmise ; The herbs from his scrip, to his father were shown : But O! cried the Youth, as he fetch'd a deep groan,

What vision has dazzleď mine eyes ?

Some vision, I fear son, that bodes thee no good!

But prithee the wonder declare. Two lovely white forms pass'd the tree where I stood, And glided so softly away in the wood,

They seem'd to dissolve in the air.

Ah ! talk not so fondly of what thou hast seen,

They are fairies that haunt the wood side! Ah! shun them as serpents that coil on the green, Or they'll wound thee with arrows tormenting and keen,

Then sorely thy sufferings deride.

Dear Youth ! thou hast seen me all sorrowful steal

To the hillock beside our low Cot;
My days are departing too truly I feel!
Thy kindness avails not--thy herbs will not heal !

O lay me to rest in that spot.

But remember my counsel when silent and low,

All remembrance of me may subside :
O never ! no never beyond the wood go,
And shun as thou shunnest thy bitterest foe,

The fairies that haunt the wood side !

He died and was buried the

green

hillock nigh, That rose by the side of the Cot. Then the Youth for some unknown delight heaved a sigh, The forest's wild beauties no more pleased his eye,

And the counsel of age was forgot.

'Tis said, the next morn he arose with the day,

To seek where the vision he spied :
No more in these deserts, he cry'd, will I stay,
But will seek at all risk, tho' my father said nay,

The fairies that haunt the wood side.

The BATTLE of PULTOWA.

On Vorskas glittering waves
The morning sun-beams play ;
Pultowa's walls are throng'd
With eager multitudes,
Athwart the dusty vale
They strain their aching eyes,

Where to the fight he moves
The Conqueror Charles, the iron-hearted Swede.

Him Famine hath not tamed
The tamer of the brave;

Him Winter hath not quell’d,
When man by man his veteran troops sunk down,

Frozen to their endless sleep,
He held undaunted on;
Him Pain hath not subdued,

What tho' he mounts not now

The fiery steed of war,
Borne on a litter to the fight he goes.

Go iron-hearted King!
Full of thy former fame.
Think how the humbled Dane
Crouch'd to thy victor sword;
Think how the wretched Pole
Resign'd his conquer'd crown;

Go iron-hearted King!
Let Narva's glory swell thy haughty breast
The death-day of thy glory Charles, hath dawn'd,

Proud Swede, the Sun hath risen
That on thy shame shall set !

Now bend thine head from heaven,
Now Patkul be revenged !
For o'er that bloody Swede
Ruin hath rais'd his arm
For ere the night descends

His veteran host subdued,
His laurels blasted to revive no more

He flies before the foe!

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