Ships that trace the watʼry stage, Harts nor horses, strong and fleet, Yet the silly wand'ring mind, If her inward worth were known, Watts. SONG. WHEN the shades of night pursuing, Julia, thus, when hope retreating, Yields to care my tortur'd breast; One soft smile thy lips disclosing, One kind glance my breast composing, Stills my heart, and all is peace. Monthly Magazine. ODE. FE ERREUM credis mihi pectus? Ah si Semper obducto riguisset ære! Tum nec exactæ mea mens doloret Gaudia vitæ. Me nec aversum quereretur amens Ipsa testetur vaga luna nostrum, Voce lacessit. Dum jubar purum per inane manat, Somnia mentem. Illa dum cælo tacito niteret, Conscia nostræ. Priscus et jamjam calor ille vivit ; Sæpe recursat. Perge me diris onerare verbis, Chara pigebit. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING ODE. AND dost thou think my heart is hard ? On life's short joys, all fleeting sound! Then should no fond complaining maid, (The pangs of absence doom'd to prove) My ever-faithful breast upbraid With all her woes of slighted love! How oft has wand'ring Luna's beam, How oft, the silent heav'ns along, To her I pour'd my plaintive song, Still, still my wonted warmth remains, Fancy thy long-lost form retains, Thy sorrowing looks methink I see! With deep reproach my soul invade, And though thy harsh words wound my ear, That mem'ry held thy beauties dear! County Magazine. TO SOLITUDE. FAR from Ambition's selfish train, Where Av'rice rules the busy day, And patient Folly "hugs his chain," Enslav'd by Custom's ruthless sway, Lead me, calm spirit! to some still retreat, Where silence shares with thee the blooming mead, Save when at distance heard, in cadence sweet, The village minstrel tunes his simple reed. There, free from cares, from jarring passions free, Oft may I strike the lyre, sweet Solitude! to thee. When orient morn, in blushing pride, |