'Twas thus, Maria fpoke. Methought that blame,
And blame half merited, came in that speech;
A fpeech, delightful elfe! But, it shall teach
This wayward heart a lefs inconftant flame !
AND, when Miranda, each delufion past,
As life's gay fun shall fet in even-tide,
Expects her friend-will time's repeated blaft
Prefent that friend, unalter'd, at her fide?
Shall no dark ftorm the coming day o'ercast;
And he, protected by th' Unerring Guide,
Be found unhurt, unchanging to the last?
May not his feeble virtues half-decreed,
His grown infirmities, and pedant-pride,
Have lost her better thoughts? Yet, come they not.
There are too many things that would divide,
And can, our firmest hopes! I know not what,
But fomething whispers, that, to earth allied,
I foon may claim than life a narrower spot.
THINK not I flight then, ever-beauteous fair!
Thy kind intent; or that, infenfate
To what once charm'd, I deem that charm ás air.
Full many a wan'd moon past, and I have known
Miranda's worth, and known it still the fame!
And peerlefs on, through virtue's lengthen'd age, 'If years are her's, thall live her changelefs fame: Untouch'd by vice, and all the tyrant rage, Which plotting baseness filvers for the head
Of unfufpicious truth. And feems it nought,
To meet fuch favour from so pure a breaft?
It is a prize which wealth had never bought!
Such I do hold it-and death's notelefs bed,
Then erft, lefs grateful. But I figh for reft.
-TIME moves on!
Already fummer with a liberal hand
Flings to the gale her treffes rofe-entwin'd,
And gives the breeze, cool as the tears of chastity:
'Tis now the hour when meditation walks,
And confcience lifts his ftill, but awful voice-
The moon fhines on me, and the closing flow'rs
More balmy than in noon-day, spend their fouls,
Their spicy fouls, in prayer to him above.-
Can I gaze on earth, on sky, thus lovely,
And with thoughts vacant or vain, move onward?
No, ye ftars!
Ye filent myriad, that with steady light
Burn in the vait cerulean! ye bleft worlds!
(For all are bleft that own the care of God)]
Ye peopled planets! and ye countless funs!---
And thou, O moon! whofe mild unshaded eye
Seems fearching to my heart-I feel there is
But one great, good Eternal! Lo! my foul
Sublimely thrilling, as my ardent lips
Breathe out his name, attefts that he alone
Woke it to being, and difpenfes now
The forrow, that with heavy weight o'erhangs
My fadden'd heart:-Father! I feel thy hand,
Thy chaftening hand laid on me, but I bow
Myfelf before thee, humbled; and convinced,
That thou can't only tell what is not good,
I ftop the figh. O teach me to controul
The weak, weak tear, to drown all earthly pains
In the pure blifs of paradife. O come!
Ye heavenly vifions, for whofe fight my foul
Thirfts greedily. O come! and lead each thought
To views of future joy. Hail! facred scenes!
I fee the deathlefs feats, the beaming thrones,
Where all the juft that were, that are, or shall
In future ages bless their Maker's love,
Shall, when time is no more, receive their meed,
O, happy hour! already to their harps
VOL. I.
I hear their voices founding, and with peals
Of praise fublime, lauding the living God!
And now to fofter melody attun'd,
Some favor'd faint, his fingle lyre and lays,
Warbleth, and in such strains that steal the tears
From heavenly eyes, fings of our Saviour's love-
O! to founds like thefe, thus fweet, thus awful,
Thus enchaining thought, no man e ́er listen'd;
For they speak the death, the suffering moments
Of the Lord of Life-Christ upon the cross,
Expiring for our fins, and their remiffion;
Chrift! our God, our Saviour, our Redeemer!
O! blett names! wakeners of piety,
Of faith and hope; Saviour! Lord! by which
Shall I addrefs thee? wandering here,
Alone, but thoughtful, for thy mercies great;
Heart-ftruck, I kneel before thee, and implore
Such grace as may, thro' life's uncertain road,
Direct my fect aright; fo fhall I die
Firm in the faith, of seeing thee and God!
WHOSE VERSES ARE ALWAYS MELANCHOLY.
HY mourns thy mufe, in ftrains unknown to joy?
Why always brooding o'er fome fecret grief?
Thy ardent mind its texture may destroy,
And throwding madnefs be thy last relief.
Hath life no charms to foothe thy ficken'd fight?
The world no gay attire to court thy view?
What if the prefent profpect be not bright,
Others endure the clouds that shadow you.
Hath friendship lur'd thee, with infidious guife?
Profefs'd a Hame, reciprocal and strong?
The phantom fading, fhould it thee furprise,
For who retains the wav'ring flatt'rer long?
Hath love attun'd thy ftrains to mournful fong?
Of wrongs, and flights, and pride, no more complain;
Select fome modest maiden from the throng,
And treat the triflers with a just disdain.
I too, could tell of abfent love, of woe;
Could weep with thee, thro' ev'ry plaintive line; But reafon bids me ftem the torrent-flow
Of wild reflection, and of fad repine.
Then, like a trav'ler, take what life fupplies.-
Some cooling fprings, fome fruits may fresh the way,
Which, rude and rugged, leads to kinder skies,
Where home shall smile in everlasting day.
On the Deceafe of a young Lady, addreffed to her Mother.
HAT, though the fun's exhilarating beams,
O'er boundless nature pour effulgence round; What though with rofied flowers each garden teems, And vernal warblings from the groves refound; On thee, fond mother, clos'd in forrow's fhade, No pleasure lightens with benignant eyes, While on that couch of languishment is laid Thine eyes' delight-made mortal for the skies. There, green in years, to varied pains a prey, Ere yet her fancy drew the trait of ill; Ere yet her charms full blooming, fpread to day, She bows obfequious to th' Almighty will!
'Twas yours, with fond felicity to view
The opening beauties of her infant mind; 'Twas yours, to give her tender foul the clue, That leads to pleasures of the noblest kind.
But, ah! her vivid glow of health is fled;
Her morning fkies are clad with deepest woe; Once towering high-fhe now declines her head, Like the reft tree o'ercharg'd with driving fnow.
Her fparkling eyes are now bedim'd by pain;
Faint is the cadence of her filver speech;
Continued throes her gracile fystem strain,
And pity's cordial ftrings, impiercing, reach.
Her nerves relax'd, her priftine vigour gone,
A fhadow of a fhade fhe glides away!
pomp of graces, whither is it flown?
Ah, where the music of her modest lay?
Thy looks maternal, thy inceffant fighs,
Thine ardent prayers, alas!-are all in yain:
Terrific death diffolves all human ties,
Inly he laughs, exulting at our pain.
With throbs of love thy beating heart shall heave,
And mourn her form, irrevocably gone;
Congenial bofoms at thy tale fhall grieve,
And in the fofteft ftrains thy ftate bemoan.
Long fhall the live in thy creative eye,
Fair as the painted children of the spring;
Long fhalt thou hear her laft ejected figh,
Wafted by FANCY's undulating wing.
Warm'd by a love that mothers only fhare,
Which nature planted in the human breast, Long fhall thy mind renew its wonted care, At morn's fweet prime, or eve's descending reft. Sweet, lovely babe! (the mother oft shall say) How have I clafp'd thee in my yielding arms! How often eyed thee in thy childish play
On velvet meads, where wanton fummer charms ?
Oft have I lull'd thy wearied powers afleep,
Gaz'd on thy features with enraptur'd eyes!
And muft I now for thee unceafing weep?-
Muft haggard grief thy mother's love chastise?
Say! has the grave for ever clos'd my view
From thee, expreffive femblance of thy fire!
Strong o'er thy form life's gather'd tempelts blew,
And quench'd the luftre of thy ifing fire.
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