Pagina-afbeeldingen
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To the inmoft recefs of this deep and damp cave,
The voice of distress did extend;

Alphonfo it rous'd, and he rush'd forth to fave
The damfel, who fought a defence from the brave,
And call'd upon Death as a friend.

But who shall defcribe the emotions that rise,
As the lamp plac'd the fair one in view?
When Louifa herself was disclos'd to his eyes!
Yet her spirit seem'd fled to its manfion the skies;
And frantic, with horror, he grew.

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“Louifa!” he cry'd—“ thou delight of my heart!
Oh, speak!let me feel but thy breath!-
"And have we then met, to be deftin'd to part?-
"Ah, no!—for I fwear no perfuafion or art
"Shall prevent me from sharing thy death!”

His voice foon recall'd the faint spirit that fled,
She open'd her languid blue eyes——————
Beheld her Alphonforeclin'd her weak head
In those arms which to prefs her were openly spread,
And shield her from grief and surprise.

The pow'r of expreffion to both was deny'd
Their joy was too great to impart:

At length- "My Alphonfo-I'm fpotlefs!" fhe cry'd;
I've efcap'd all his arts-and I'll now be the bride
"Of him who has long had my heart!"

MATURE JUDGMENT.

AY in the morn of life's advancing days,

GThe intellectual faculties expand;

Then Reafon 'gins to spread her vig'rous rays,
And o'er the paffions rules with influence bland.

But the young eye, unfkill'd in worldly craft,
To feeming mis'ry yields the ready tear;
The candid heart, ungall'd by ingrate's fhaft,
In bands of love holds ev'ry mortal dear.

Alas! incautious-lo! in Friendship's mask,
Deception masquerades the pop'lous earth:
T'unfold the heart is Time's appropriate task,
And Time alone can fhew its real worth.

Then be it yours, my juvenile compeers,
To weigh the actions of the fons of men,
Nor reck' that Wisdom always dwells with years,
Or Probity is always in your ken:

Nor chill the glow of fympathy too soon;

Let fage-like converse all your pow'rs mature, Then pure Difcretion, bright as fummer's noon, Shall guide your "active powers,” and “ keep

your hearts fecure."

ΟΝ

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.
BY MR. ROGERS,

N thee, bleft youth! a father's hand confers
The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew:
Each foft enchantment of the foul is hers;
Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.
As on fhe moves, with hesitating grace,

She wins afsurance from his soothing voice;
And, with a look the pencil could not trace,
Smiles through her blushes, and confirms the choice.
Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame!

To thee fhe turns-forgive a virgin's fears!
To thee fhe turns with fureft, tend'reft claim;
Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears!

At each refponse the facred rite requires,
From her full bofom bursts th' unbidden figh:
A ftrange mysterious awe the scene inspires;
And on her lips the trembling accents die.
O'er her fair face what wild emotions play!
What lights and fhades in fweet confufion blend!
Soon fhall they fly, glad harbingers of day,
And fettled funshine on her foul descend!

Ah! foon, thine own confeft, extatic thought! That hand fhall ftrew each flinty path with flow'rs And those blue eyes, with mildest luftre fraught, Gild the calm current of domestic hours!

ON VISITING

THE GRAVE OF STERNE,

In Company with a Welfa Bard, Mr. Edward Williams.

BY MR. SAMWELL.

WITW faciew the fpot where Yorick lies:

ITH facred awe, with kind concern,

We

Here Friendship ftill fhall vifit Sterne,
And tears fhall fill Affection's eyes.

Silent upon thy grave we ftand,

.

And mufe upon the duft beneath-
The fairest flow'r from Nature's hand,
Now with'ring in the shade of death.

When ev'ning dews thy turf fo green,
Humanity, with gentle tread,
And bright-ey'd Genius oft are feen
Weeping befide thy earthy bed.

Those dear companions of thy way,

Although from death they could not fave,
Yet here their vows they duly pay,
And bid remembrance haunt thy grave.

Maria's fhade, with pious care,

By Cynthia's light shall hither come,
And watch the fpring, with fingers fair,
Decking with flow'rs thy fimple tomb.

While here, with pilgrim's ftep they stray
Around thy place of endless reft,
We check the fond complaint, and fay,

Sure thou art number'd with the blefl.

THE DESERTED FARM-HOUSE.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

THIS has almot laid,
HIS antique dome, th' unmould'ring tooth of Time

Yet, ere 'tis gone, I trace my humble rhyme
From the low ruins that his years have made.
Behold th' unfocial hearth!-where once the fires
Blaz'd high, while yonder wand'ring current froze:
Sce, the weak roof, that abler props requires,
Admits the chilling winds, and fleecy fnows.
Here, to forget the labours of the day,

No more the swains at ev'ning hours repair;
But wand'ring flocks affume the well-known way,
To fhun the rigours of th' inclement air.

In yonder chamber, half to ruin

gone,

Önce flood the ancient housewife's curtain'd bedTimely the prudent matron has withdrawn,

And each domeftic comfort with her fled.

The trees, the flow'rs, that her own hand had rear'd,
The plants, the vines, that were so verdant feen;
The trees, the flow'rs, the vines have disappear❜d.
And every plant has vanish'd from the green.
So fits in tears, on wide Campania's plain,
The ancient mistress of a world enflav'd,
That triumph'd o'er the land, fubdu'd the main,
And Time itself in her wild transports brav'd.

So fits in tears, on Paleftina's fhore,

The Hebrew town, of fplendour once divine; Her king, her lords, her triumphs are no more, Slain are her priests, and ruin'd ev'ry shrine. Once in the bounds of this half-ruin'd room, Perhaps, fome fwain nocturnal courtship made; Perhaps fome Hervey mus'd amidft the gloom, Since love and death for ever feek the fhade. Perhaps fome mifer, doom'd to discontent,

Here counted o'er the heaps acquir'd with pain; He to the duft-his gold on traffic fent,

Shall ne'er difgrace these mould'ring walls again.

Nor fhall the glow-worm fopling, funshine bred, Seek at the evening hour this wonted dome Time has reduc'd the fabric to a shed,

Scarce fit to be the wand'ring beggar's home.

And none but I its piteous fate lament,
None, none but I o'er its fad afhes mourn,
Sent by the Mufe, (the time, perhaps, mispent,)
To fhed her tears upon its filent urn.

EXTEMPORE TO SYMPΑΤΗΣ,

SWE

WEET foother of Misfortune's pain,
Than Pity's ufelefs moan more kind,
How feldom are thy efforts vain,
To calm the tempeft of the mind!

When loft the fleeting rays of joy,
And melancholy clouds appear;
When Sorrow's pangs the heart annoy,
While Anguish prompts the starting tear}

Thy tender voice, and anxious eye,
The fecret caufe of grief would know;
Thy wifh fincere, and feeling figh,
Alleviation's balm beftow.

Still may thy gen'rous aid incline

To check the fiend Despair's controul,
And still thy beaming prefence fhine,
To cheer the drooping, gloomy foul.

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