Some to the mountain's haughty brow emerge, Others pursue the plain--the wood--the dell, Appointing where to meet, their fortune dear, to tell. And now, O Lady! Empress of the day, My pensive pen pursues thee on thy way! Amidst the heat and fury of the chace, When the fleet horsemen scarce the eye could trace. A road succinct Edwina meant to take, And push'd her steed across an ancient brake; But in the thicket tangled and dismayed, And of the thorny solitude afraid, Again she turn'd her horse--ah! turn'd in vain, She miss'd the op'ning to the neighb'ring plain. At length dismounting, tremblingly she strove, To force a path, through briars thickly wove; The horse releas'd, straight vanish'd from her eye, And o'er opposing brambles seem'd to fly-- The distant hounds his prick'd-up ears invade, And quick he skims o'er ev'ry glen and glade. His mistress, thus forsook, with prickles torn, And weeping oft with pain, and all forlorn, At length achiev'd a path, and saw a rill, To which she mov'd, her ruby mouth to fill;-- Her taper'd hand immers'd beneath the stream, Flash'd through the glassy wave with pearly gleam, It bore the living moisture to her lips, And eagerly the panting beauty sips, The shining freshness o'er her brow she threw, And bless'd the current as it sparkling flew; Then on its borders sought a short repose, Whilst round her, doddergrass, and pansies rose. Sleep soon, unbidden, caught her in his snare, And folded in his arms the weary fair, Two aspen trees in one smooth bark were bound, And threw a thin and trembling shadow round, The waters gently tinkled as they fell, And a near sheep sustained a silvery bell, Whilst breezes o'er her temples softly stray'd, And 'midst her floating ringlets, leaping, played, Who would not wish to linger in such rest, Where waters, shades, and sounds, make sleeping blest? But, Powers Sublime! who tread the burning air, And give to sainted charity your care, Where roved ye now?--Where waved your filmy wings, Where struck your harps their million-bearing strings? If on Light's rays, swift shot from pole to pole, Your essences supine you chose to roll, Or the rich glowing tapestry to weave, Which must the sun's retiring orb receive, Yet still you should have left each task undone, Fled from the glowing west--forsook the sun, Rush'd in whole troops, nor left one sylph behind, And all your cares to Ennerdale confined: Clung round the aspens where Edwina slept, And o'er her form your anxious vigils kept-- Whose slumbers long spun out their rosy dreams, And still consoled her 'midst the noontide beams. When a hard grasp which seized her listless hands, Rude, snapt asunder their narcotic bands, She started, and she found,--O! hated sight,