Scarce had fhe told her mournful tale, "Help, father! help," they loudly cry, All deadly pale they lay him down, With frantic grief poor ETHELINDE "Lift up thine eyes, my EDWIN dear, That much lov'd found recalls his life, Then feebly murmuring out her name Stupid Stupid a while, in dumb despair Dim grew her eyes, her lips turn'd pale, A DIRGE. B OW the head thou lily fair, Bow the head in mournful guife; Sickly turn thy fhining white, Shed thy leaves thou lovely rofe, Fragrant woodbine all untwine, All untwine from yonder bower; Drag Drag thy branches on the ground, For, woe is me! the gentle knot, Her head with dim half-closed eyes, And mute is that harmonious voice, That wont to breathe the founds of love; And lifeless are those beauteous limbs, That with fuch ease and grace did move. And I of all my blifs bereft, Lonely and fad must ever moan; To SLEEP. C OME gentle God of foft repose, Shed kind oblivion o'er my woes, Come gentle God, without thy aid. Let hope in fome propitious dream O quickly fend thy kind relief, A SPASIA rolls her sparkling eyes, And every bofom feels her power; The Indians thus view Phoebus rife, And gaze in rapture, and adore. Quick to the foul the piercing fplendors dart, ASPASIA fpeaks; the liftening crowd And self-admiring folly hears. Her wit fecures the conquefts of her face; ASPASIA moves ; her well-turn'd limbs 'Twas |