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So fings the fwan, her dying notes admir'd,
Her own fad requiem to eternal reft.

"Mary, dear maid, though ocean rolls between,
"And far, far off is white-cliff'd Albion's fhore,
"Some sweet remark of thine illumes each fcene,
"Thy image breathes in ev'ry op'ning flow'r.
"In the carnation, rich with coral glow,

"The milder rofe-bud, and the jefs'mine fair, "Thy lip, thy modeft blufh, thy fkin of fnow, "And, in the almond brown, thy gloffy hair. "If the tall palm-tree bows beneath the breeze, "Thy eafy fhape waves graceful in my view; "If the fweet blue-bell gliftens through the trees, "Tis Mary's eye, impearl'd with pity's dew." Thus would he fing, till years of tedious toil Sweet competency's meed had well acquir'd; He came full laden with the fpoiler's fpoil, And juft in view of happinefs-expir'd.

Ah! what remains to clofe the dire affair?
Or who can paint the maiden as fhe flood?
Clafping her hands, and frantic with defpair,
She plung'd, impetuous, in the raging flood.
Ah, hapless lovers!-dear prefumptuous maid!
There may thy woes, thy cruel forrows, cease-
Fruitlefs, alas! is now all human aid,

The hand which bruis'd can only give thee peace.

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THE BRITISH

POETICAL MISCELLANY.

E

HENRY AND ELIZA.

LIZA was beyond compare
The pride of all the plain;

Fair, yet belov'd by every fair,
Ador'd by ev'ry swain.

Though nature had each charm combin'd

The beauteous maid to grace,

And bade the sweetness of her mind
Stand pictur'd in her face;

Yet fortune, from her earlieft years,
A fate difaftrous wove,.

of tears,

And doom'd her to an age
For one fhort hour of love.

In childhood's helpless state bereft
Of parents' watchful care,
Her inexperienc'd youth was left
A prey to ev'ry fnare.

One only fault the maid poffefs'd-
If that a fault we deem-
A tender, unfufpecting breast,

Too lavish of efleem.

Unvers'd in woes that other's find,
In wiles that others fear;
Artlefs herself, fhe thought mankind
Were, like herself, fincere.

But, ah! ere yet the luckless maid
Had fifteen fummers run,

Her faith and honour were betray'd-
Her virtue was undone.

Young Henry, with fuccessful art,
To win her favour ftrove,
Long practis'd on her youthful heart,
And early gain'd her love,

Fraught with each soft, refiftlefs charm,
With each perfuafive pow'r,
He fill'd difcretion's kind alarm,
And cropp'd the virgin flow'r.

Her orphan ftate, her tender years,
Her pure unfpotted fame,
Serv'd but to hufh his guilty fears,
And fan his lawless flame.

By honour's dictates unreftrain'd,
By faith nor juftice fway'd;
That confidence his vows obtain'd
His perfidy-betray'd.

So poor Eliza's hapless fate

Fill'd Henry's breaft with care: Nor could the vain parade of state Protect him from defpair.

He saw the beauties once he priz'd

All wither in their bloom;
By lawless passion facrific'd
Untimely to the tomb.

For how could injur'd honour look
Its author in the face?
Or how could fuff'ring virtue brook
Invective and difgrace?

No forrows could afford relief,

No penitence atone;

The figh fhe gave to other's grief
She wanted for her own.

The partners of her youthful years
Unpitying her distress,

Nor kindly help'd to dry her tears,
Nor ftrove to make them lefs.

Her lov'd companions turn'd away,
To former friendship cold;
And left her in affliction's day,
Uncherish'd, unconfol'd.

So ever through the world we find
Each breaft at woe recoils;
And all the favours of mankind
But laft while fortune fmiles.

Too juft life's guilty joys t' indure,
Too weak its thorns to brave,
No friend but death fhe could procure,
No comfort but the grave.

Awhile the Heav'n's forgiveness pray'd
For errors long confeft;
Then fought the folitary fhade,

And filent funk to reft.

Hard fortun'd fex! in every fate,

From cuftom's rigid pow'r,
Years of remorfe can't expiate
One inadvertant hour.

Unfkill'd in life's precarious way,
Should love their bofoms burn,
And yielding nature chance to stray,
They never can return:

In vain they with repentant fighs
Their fad experience mourn;
E'en those who ought to fympathize
Abandon them with fcorn.

Say, why, ye virgins, who bestow
On moft compaffion's tear;

The pangs alone yourselves may
You thus refufe to cheer?

O! rather kindly condefcend

To aid the drooping fair,

know

Your mercy with your juftice blend,
And fnatch them from defpair.

Eliza's death when Henry heard,
He gave a piteous groan;

The cenfure of the world he fear'd,
But more he fear'd his own.

In vain he flew to crowds and courts,
Guilt every blifs deftroys;
Intruded on his morning fports,

And damp'd his ev'ning joys.

At length, with constant grief o'ercome,
With anguifh and difmay,
He hy'd him to the lonely tomb
Which held Eliza's clay.

There weeping o'er the turf-clad ground,
Of all exiftence tir'd,

He caft his ftreaming eyes around,
And mournfully expir'd.

Thus warn'd, ye fair, with caution arm
'Gainft man's perfidious arts;
Since youth and beauty vainly charm,
When honour once departs.

Let Hymen's facred bands unite
Where paffion is declar'd,
Give fanction to approv'd delights,
And authorize regard.

So fhall no rankling cares annoy,
No tears unceafing flow!

So fhall

you feel a mother's joy, Without a mother's woe.

INSCRIPTION,

Engraved on a Marble Table, fixed against the Wall

of an Hermitage.

THOE'ER thou art these lines now reading,

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not, though from the world receding,

I joy my lonely days to lead in

This defart drear,

That with remorse a conscience bleeding

Hath led me here.

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