Thus round the Fair, the Gay, the Young, In search of charms that soon shall fade: While Virtue, Innocence, and Truth, THE OLD MAN'S SONG. SHALL Man of frail fruition boast ? Oft but a moment, and at most There was a time,-that time is past, Like me thro' varying seasons range, For ah! the sweetest Spring shall change In Infancy, my vernal prime, Amusement pluck'd the wings of Time, Summer, my youth, succeeded soon, And Pleasure held the reins till noon, Like Autumn, rich in ripening corn, My harvest-moon scarce fill'd her horn, Then follow'd Age, infirm Old Age, When shall I fall before his rage, To rise beyond the sphere! I long to cast the chains away, To burst these dungeon-walls of clay, Life lies in embryo,—never free SHEFFIELD. ALCEVS, EUPHROSYNE. BY THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESQ. SAYS Venus one day to her vagabond son, "Where so fast, you sly rogue, with those darts do you run? "What unfortunate Maid have you destined to die "By the grace of a limb, or the glance of an eye? "Is Woman your aim?-Prithee, tell me the truth: "Or hast thou resolv'd that some innocent youth "Should burn by the torch that you wave in your hand? "Though small be its flame, 'tis a terrible brand.” The undutiful boy to his mother replies, "What boots it to you by my arrow who dies? "Or whom by my torch I've resolv'd to destroy, "An unfortunate Maid, or an innocent Boy? "But since, like your son, you are curious to know, "I'll tell you the business that takes me below. "A Poet there lives in a place, where a tree "Over-shadows the door, and his death I decree. "Not always I feign with my tears and my tricks ; "And I swear by the flood of implacable Styx, "I'll roast him alive for my pastime to-morrow, "For Woe is my joy, and my pleasure is Sorrow." "Tormentor of Maids, and Destroyer of Men," (Resumes the gay Queen, as she questions again,) "With your joys and your woes will you never have done? "And when did the Poet offend you, my son? "Should Song and the Muses refine with their fire "The soul of the Bard, and their raptures inspire, "Must he die for your sport? and has Mischief decreed "On FEELING's own altar its victim should bleed? "Ah, spare him!-But when were you known to hear reason? "Though frequent your visits, they're never in season. "Yet mind me for once.-I'm in search of a dove, "That one of my Graces purloin'd from a Love. "I miss'd it this morn; and it certainly flew "To the regions below with that hussey Miss Eu. "If the thief and the theft to my arms you restore, "A kiss shall be yours, or perhaps something more." Her grief he regards with a laugh, and "Ah-hah! ""Tis little you know of the matter, Mamma," Rejoin'd the young rogue. "Don't you know it was I "Sent Phrossy to earth with your dove from the sky? "Sweet Phrossy! whose taste and whose elegance stole "FromVIRTUE her Grace-the mild grace of the soul. "Nor grieve, dear Mamma, that the fugitive Eu "Gives one grace to earth, while the skies have their two. "Your dove she conceals in the heaven of her breast, "And that Mansion of Peace he mistakes for his nest. "To** they flew: I directed them there, "And all that behold shall adore and despair. "The Poet shall pray; but his prayer shall be vain B "He never knew pleasure who never knew pain. "To-morrow he dies! and I'll sharpen his thorn "With the sting of Disdain, and the arrow of Scorn. "In **'s loved person strike home to his heart, "And EUPHROSYNE's self shall determine the dart." THE PROPHECY. BY THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESQ. WHEN seven green years (ah me! to mourn the day SONNET. "Ah, luckless boy! to care and sorrow born, "Thy life's full cup with bitter tears shall flow; "The Muse shall smile upon thy lettered morn, "Shall smile-and smiling, sharpen every woe. "A maid, the fairest of the rural train, "Her breast all virtue, as her brow divine, "Thy soul shall love-thy soul shall love in vain. "Alas! poor boy, no happiness is thine. "Yes; her young Graces shall adorn thy lays, "Charming the raptures of thy faithful lyre: "Yet not thy raptures, not thy fondest fire "Shall win the adverse maid.-Ör peace or joy "Expect not thou: nor dare thy hope to raise "Beyond her coldest smile. -Farewell, poor boy!" Ah! I remember the PROPHETIC strain, And drag with endless sorrow **'s chain. |