"O spare me, death,

-a moment more,

"A ruby on his neck he wore

"Enchas'd in gold, and on his arm
"Some skilful hand, for spell or charm,

66

Had, with indelible emboss,

"In punctur'd stains pourtray'd the cross. "Forgive me, Ivan, darling boy! "Thy hand, dear youth,I faint; I die." In one deep sigh the spirit fled, And Hurder rested with the dead.

On Ivan's neck the hermit hung; To Ivan's breast enraptur'd clung, And wept, and sobb'd in transport wild. "O Sigebert! my child! my child!

"For Heav'ns best gift restor'd, to Heav'n "The sacrifice of praise be given! "Record my vow, ye Saints, to found "A chapel on this hallow'd ground, "And consecrate the Holy Well

"With shrine and altar, book and bell.
"Here youths shall chaunt the choral lay;
"Here rev'rend priests devoutly pray;
"And matin song, and vesper rite,
"Salute the morn, and bless the night."
Soon rose from earth the sacred fane,
And sweetly breath'd the pious strain:
That fane, as circling seasons flew,
In fame, in wealth, in splendor grew,
And shrine, and church, and holy ground,
A bishop's stately palace crown'd.

But time, with silent slow decay,
Sweeps earthly pomp and pride away;
Nor church, nor palace, now are known
By massy wall, or mould'ring stone;

A moated square just marks the scite
Of mitred state, and splendid rite:
Yet pure and bright the living rill
Rolls down the alder-skirted hill,
And fancy loves to linger here,
And paints the past, in vision clear,
As, whispering, to the muse she tells
The legend of the HOLY WELLS.

LINES, WRITTEN ON LEAVING IPSWICH.

Ipswich is an ancient and populous, but an irregular built town, happily situated on the side of a hill, with a southern aspect, declining by an easy descent to the river Orwell, near the place where the fresh and salt water meet; and forming a sort of half moon or crescent on its bank. It contains twelve parish churches, a spacious market place, a corn exchange, a custom house with a good quay, theatre, assembly and subscription rooms, free grammar school, shire hall, county and borough goal, house of correction, barracks for cavalry, &c. The streets are well paved, but, like those of most ancient towns which have not suffered by fire, are narrow and irregular; and consequently do not make such a striking appearance, as if they ran in right lines. At the corners of many of them are yet to be seen the remains of curious carved images, grotesque figures, arms, flowers, &c. and great numbers of the houses are adorned, some of them to profusion, in a similar manner. The town contains many good buildings; and an advantage which it possesses in a high degree is, that most of these, even in the heart of the place, have convenient gardens adjoining, which render them not only more agreeable, but the town itself more airy and salubrious. It has declined from its former consequence; the manufactures of broad cloth and canvas being at an end; and its

present commerce chiefly depends upon the malting and exportation of corn. It has, however, a considerable coasting trade, and a small share of foreign commerce. Several views of Ipswich have been at different times published.

OH Ipswich! sweet scene of my juvenile hours,
Thy pleasures recede from my view,

Tothy grass cover'd meads, embroidered with flowers,
I bid a reluctant adieu.

Ye scenes of my childhood, I bid you farewel,
With smiles that my anguish conceal,

But the heart's secret pain sighs unbidden tell,
These tears its reluctance reveal.

I go where bright science her standard has plac'd,
And commerce extends her wide sail,

Where beauty is deck'd by the finger of taste,
And elegance throws off her veil.

Yet want these gay scenes the dear charms of that spot,
Where childhood, sweet era, was past;

Oh Ipswich! thy pleasures will ne'er be forgot,
Long as mem'ry's tablet shall last.

I view thy green meads as the land of my youth,
Ere sorrow this breast did invade,

Ere yet I had prov'd the too sorrowful truth,
Life's landscape is chequer'd with shade.

How sweet to reflection now rises each hour,
Spent under the shade of thy trees;
The past seizes on me with syren like power,
Forbidding the present to please :

To fancy how bright are the days that are flown,
All sorrow from them is effac'd;

O'er them what illusions remembrance has thrown,
Past years with what colours are grac❜d.

Oh mem❜ry! thy magic beguilements give o'er,
For sick'ning to truth I return,

She tells me of those time nor place can restore,
Who sleep 'neath the cold marble urn.

Ah! where are the friends that made childhood so blest,

Do they still in Ipswich remain ?

Ah no! they are gone to the mansions of rest,
All senseless of pleasure or pain.

Yet dear to my heart are the friends that are left,
Nor few to my bosom are given,

Of those that are gone, though now I am bereft,
Faith whispers I meet them in heaven.

LINES WRITTEN AT SOUTHWOLD,

OCTOBER, 1809.

Southwold is pleasantly situated on a cliff or point of land, near a fine bay, at the mouth of the river Blythe, which here discharges itself into the sea. The church,

dedicated to St. Edmund, is supposed to have been finished about 1460, and is a very fine fabric. Its total length is 143 feet 6 inches, and its width 56 feet 2 inches. It has two aisles, which are separated from the nave by seven arches, and six pillars of elegant workmanship. The tower, about 100 feet in height, is a fine piece of architecture, beautified with freestone,

intermixed with flint of various colours: The porch is highly ornamented: over the entrance is a vacant niche, which is decorated in various parts with gothic letters, similar to those of the inscription upon the arch over the great west window of the tower: SAT. EDMUND. ORA. P. NOBIS. Every letter is surmounted by a crown. The north door has a niche on either side, with a figure on each, resembling an angel with prodigious wings in a kind of pulpit, and the hands joined as if in the attitude of prayer. The pillars, supporting these niches, rise from grotesque heads. The mouldings between the receding arches of all the doors are ornamented with foliage, flowers, grotesque heads and figures; as is also the fillet that runs round the body of the church above the windows. The interior of this edifice still indicates that it was yet more highly ornamented than the exterior. The carved work of the rood-loft, and the seats of the magistrates, now somewhat defaced, originally bore a great resemblance to those in Henry VIIth's chapel at Westminster. Every pen was likewise decorated with figures of birds, beasts, satyrs, &c. The ceiling of the chancel is handsomely painted, as is likewise that over the skreen in the nave.

As the beach here partakes of the advantages enjoyed by other towns on this coast for sea-bathing, it has of late years derived considerable advantage from the visitors, who resort thither during the summer season for that purpose, and for whose accommodation two convenient machines are kept in the town.

It has been remarked, that at this town in particular, as at all the places on this coast, the swallow's commonly first land on their arrival in England, and hence also they take their departure on their return to warmer climates. Both the church and town have been frequently engraved.

SOUTHWOLD, all hail! peace to thy billowy shore;
In vain may tempests rage or ocean roar,
Thy verdant cliffs still bless the seaman's eye,
Thy genial gales still health and ease supply: