That love matur'd, next playful on the knee
To prefs the velvet lip of infancy;

To stay the tottering ftep, the features trace ;-
Ineftimable sweets of focial peace!

O Thou, who bidft the vernal juices rife!
Thou, on whofe blafts autumnal foliage flies!
Let Peace ne'er leave me, nor my heart grow cold,
Whilft life and fanity are mine to hold

MARKOFF, a SIBERIAN ECLOGUE, by JOSEPH COTTLE

[From the Second Volume of ANNUAL ANTHOLOGY.}

MID Siberian waftes and trackless ways,

A
The Coffack*, Markoff, pafs'd his happy days:
No rapturous hope or rankling care he knew,
His means were fimple, as his wants were few.
When fummer cloth'd the hill and deck'd the plain,
He wifely thought of winter's cheerlefs reign;
And when the wintry fnows the scene o'ercaft,
Look'd on to fummer and endured the blast.
Thus life roll'd on, and thus he footh'd his breast,
Freedom his guide, and Cheerfulness his gueft;
Till reftlefs thoughts and vain defires arose
To break his calm and long-enjoy'd repose.
Befide his hut the mufing Coffack stood
And liften'd to the found of neighbouring wood
Whofe flow and folemn murmurs fill'd his ear
Through all the changeful feafons of the year.
The dark Uralian hills + before him rofe,
The wind of autumn now impetuous blows:
Dreary the view! the froft o'erfpreads the ground,
And the loud brook with fetters now is bound.
He mark'd the clouds from arctic mountains roll'd,
He call'd to mind the tale of traveller bold;

He thought of diftant fcenes, of realms unknown,
Where through all ages tempefts held their throne,
Sounding their ceafelefs wrath, whose awful reign
No mortal foot had ever dared profane.

The defperate refolve is made! He cried,
"Thefe feet fhall dare yon wilds, whate'er betide,
"Thefe eyes explore the extent yon regions fpread,

"Where the young north-wind dwells, the ftorm is bred.

Though the Coffacks refide about the Nieper and the Don, bordering on the Black-Sea, yet tribes of them have fpread over many parts of Siberia. A body of Coffacks dwell at the mouth of the Jana, in latitude 71. It is well known that Siberia became fubject to Ruffia in the last century through the means of Yermac, a Coffack

warrior.

↑ The loftieft in Siberia.

"1, whe

I, who in caves of ice have oft reclined,
And braced my finews in the fiercest wind,
May fmile at danger! dangers but invite,
"And ftorms and tempefts were my first delight.
"But if no bound appear, and as I go,

"While rocks increafe, and mountains hid in fnow,
"On all fides round more gloomy waftes prevail,
"And as I journey bleaker winds affail;
"Still fhall 1 learn to brave the polar storm,
And gaze on Nature in her rudest form."

Through the thick mifts no cheering fun-beams fhone;
His fledge prepared, his winter coat put on,
Heedlefs, he cried " adieu!" and urged his deer;-
The mother and her children dropt the tear!

Now the bold Coffack many a hill had past,
Tho' each appear'd more threat'ning than the laft;
Whilft all before, far as his eye could ftrain,
Seem'd Ruin's ancient unexplored domain.

With heart too proud to temporize with fear,
The hardy Markoff pass'd the mountains drear;
He crofs'd each long continuous waste of plain,
He reach'd each diftant fummit, but in vain;
Beyond him ftill, bounding his utmost fight,
Hills rife o'er hills clad in eternal white.
And now he came where not a guide was nigh,
Save (mid the valley bare or crag on high
From certain death the wanderer's step to warn)
Some folitary pine* by tempests shorn.
He flood, and mark'd the defolation wide;
His "mute companions" trembled by his fide!
And whilft he strives the chilling blast to bear,
And hears the whirlwind thundering through the air;
Fear shakes his frame, he dreads his coming fate,
He knows his error, but, alas! too late!
With refolution warring with difmay,
Back he returns to trace his devious way;
But now the scene seems wilder than before,

The smoke-frofts rife, the cracking iceburgs † roar!

Weary,

*The chief forests in Siberia confift of the Norway and filver firs. It is understood by the northern travellers, that men may venture wherever forefts are, without much danger from the cold; but in the higher latitude forefts wholly disappear, and fingle trees only are found of ftinted growth. Here the cold is often too intense for animal life whilft in the most northerly regions vegetation never appears. The only trees that grow in Spitzbergen, and fome parts bordering on the Icy-Sea, are the dwarf willows, from two to four inches only in height.

In the most northern parts the hills are always covered with fnow, and the valleys filled with ice, which are called iceburgs. When the atmosphere becomes warmer or colder, in any confiderable degree, than at the point when the congelation took place, the ice either expands or contracts, which occasions it to crack, with a noife which fome travellers have compared to the roaring of a canuon. Through th fe fiilures in the ice a white smoke is often observed to arife, which is called įmoke-froft, of great

02

opacity,

Weary, the patient deer their path pursue,
Where never man abode, or herbage grew.
The profpect round appear'd one yawning grave,
And mid each paufe the fitful tempeft gave,
No howl from ftarving wolf invades his ear,
To foothe him with the thought that-life is near.
Now thicker darkness gather'd o'er his head;
Now anguifh rofe, till hope itself was fled;
Defpair's impenetrable mifts arife!

Frozen in death, each beast beside him lies.
From fuccour far, chain'd to the icy ground
The wilder'd Coffack forrowing looks around;
Longs on the clouds that fouthward take their flight
To feek again his dwelling of delight;

"Ah vain defire!" he cries, "no more mine eye
"Shall mark that calm abode and tranquil sky;
"The wrathful elements around me rave;
"No friend to comfort me, no power to fave!
"Why did I feek mid wilds like these to stray?
"And why difdain the perils of the way?
"My children now shall mourn, no father near!
"My wife fhall drop the unavailing tear!

"Cold chills of death creep through my fhivering form!
"Markoff, thy hour is come! Thou pitilefs ftorm,
"Spare me one moment! keep thy wrath above!
"'Tis hard to die, far from the friends we love:"
Once more he thought upon his home, and figh'd!
Once more he caft a look on every fide!

What forms are those which through the plain below
Speed undiverted, fcatt'ring wide the fnow?
It is a band of fable hunters bold;

Rife! Markoff, rife! fhout, ere thy heart be cold!
He calls! they heed him not! more loud he calls!
They hear a voice! the found each breaft appals!
They paufe! they look around! they fee his face!
They hafte the lonely wand'rer to embrace !
Safe in their fledge he feeks his native vale,
And warns each venturous traveller by his tale.

pacity, and fo intenfely cold as to peel the skin of any person who comes in conta&

with it.

The hunting of the fable is attended with great danger, as the animal is found only in the moft northern latitudes; and the inftances which have occurred of indivi duals and even companies being frozen to death are infufficient to intimidate others from following the fame hazardous occupation. The hunters fet forward, in fummer, in bauds of from five to forty, dragging their boats up the great rivers as far as poli ble; when they wait for the fetting-in of the froft, before they can ufe their fledges, and penetrate farther north in queft of the fables. (Their only guides on thefe occafions are the fingle trees, alluded to in a former part of the poem.) The chief danger arifes in not returning from thefe inhofpitable regions before the extremity of winter, as the cold is then intolerable; and which avarice often prevents them from doing; when their bod.es are fometimes difcovered by the hunters of the following autumn.

Ax

AN EVENING WALK at CROMER, 1795, by MRS. OPIE.

[From the fame Work.]

AIL fcene fublime! along the eastern hills

*

Night draws her veil, and, lo! the circling lamp
That guides the veffel thro' the ambush'd rocks,
Hangs in bright contraft on her dusky brow,
And fmiles away its gloom.-See from the weft,
A branching ftream of filver radiance flows
On Ocean's bofom, till it emulates

The trembling luftre of the milky way;
While the dark cliffs projecting o'er the waves,
And frowning, (Fancy whifpers) envious feem
Of the foft light they fhare not. In the fouth,
The ftar of evening theds her pallid rays;
While from the humble cottages that skirt
Yon hill's uneven fide, lights redly thine
Contrafting Art with Nature, and fill up
The chain of objects that leads captive fight
And to the fhrine of Meditation draws

The wanderer's foul.-But hark! the awaken'd owl
Majeftic, flow, on founding wings fails by,
And, rous'd to active life, enjoys the hour
That gives his winking eye-lids leave to reft,
While his bright eye, dim in day's dazzling light,
Now into diftance fhoots its beams, and guides
The unwieldy fpoiler to his creeping prey,
Which having feiz'd, again on murmuring wing
He cleaves the tranquil air, and to his neft
Proudly bears home the feaft he toil'd to gain;
Then from the bofom of fome thick-wove tree
Breathes in dull note his votive strain to Night,
Friend of his daring, feafon of his joy.

Here could I ftay, now lift'ning, gazing now,
Till all that crowded bufy life can give
Sunk from my view, loft in the fplendid vaft
Of Nature's pure magnificence, that still
Will shine and charm for ages. Faflion's hand
Which, in the world's gay fcenes omnipotent,
Makes and deftroys, and the fame object bids
Delight one moment, and difguft the next,
Here can no influence boaft; but here true Tafte
To Fashion rarely known, enamour'd roves
And rapt, becomes devotion, while the tear
Steals the flush'd cheek adown, as on the rofe
Glitters the dew-drop. Hail again, bright scene!

*The light in Cromer light-houfe revolves.

03

Or

On the moift gale of eve fhall I breathe forth
The fong of praife to thee, refponfive ftill
To Ocean's folemn roar? or fhall I ftand
In facred filence bound, Devotion's friend,
And lift'ning, let my eager ear drink in
The diftant mingling founds that Fancy loves,
'Till every thought's thanksgiving, and the lips
Can only murmur praife? And, lo! my lips
In utterance fail, and Silence I am thine.

AMELIA OPIE.

ODE for his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY,

By HENRY JAMES PYE, ESQ. POET-LAUREAT

I.

TILL the expecting Mufe in vain
Reluctant Peace impatient woos,

STRE

Still cruel War's deftructive train

O'er half mankind their vengeance loofe;
Still o'er the genial hours of Spring
Fell Difcord waves her crimson wing,
O'er bleeding Europe's ravag'd plains
The fiend in ftate terrific reigns;
Nor oaten pipe, nor pastoral fong,
Refound her waving woods among,
But floating on the burthen'd gale afar,

Rolls in tremendous peal the thundering voice of War.

II.

Yet from Albion's tranquil fhores
The ftorm of Defolation roars,
And while o'er fair Liguria's vales,
Fann'd by Favonius' tepid gales,
O'er Alpine heights that proudly rife
And shroud their fummits in the skies,
Or by the Rhine's majestic stream
The hoftile arms of Gallia gleam.
Fenc'd by her naval hosts that ride
Triumphant o'er her circling tide;
Britannia, jocund, pours the feftive lay,

And hails with duteous voice her George's natal day.
III.

Yet though her eye exulting fees

Valour her daring offspring crown, And Glory wafts on every breeze

The fwelling pæans of Renown, Not from the warrior laurel's leaves The votive garland now the weaves,

Sweeter