While o'er the desert, dark and wide,
He treads the dang'rous way,
Be thy bright orb his certain guide,
Until returning day.

From where the fanguine lions prowl,
Direct his fect aright;

Nor let the fierce Hyena's howl
Add horrors to the night.

Where not a shrub, where not a spire
Of grafs is feen to grow,
Where nature breathes destructive fire,
And where no fountains flow,
Let thy cool rays refresh the air,
And spicy breezes bring;
And let my lover, by thy care,
Explore the secret spring.

There may he reft on banks of balm,
And from the limpid stream
The burning heat within him calm,
While basking in thy beam;
While round the patient camels kneel,
Forgetful of their toil,

The noon-day blaze no more they feel,
Nor from their loads recoil.

Then shall he gaze with grateful mind,
Upon thy radiant face;

Think on the maid he left behind,
And all his fteps retrace:

Till, lull'd by fofteft fcents that move
On zephyrs through the air,

He finks to fleep, and dreams of love His flumb'ring vifions fhare.

MYRTILLA IN ILLNESS.

HAVE no breezes that restore

I Declining health, and faded joy:

I have not; or disease no more
Should feize, embitter, and deftroy.
And, are a few unnumber'd hours
Scarce paft to their eternal bier,
Since, in the fummer's fragrant bow'rs,
I met my love without a tear?
She knew not tears-her cheerful eye
Beam'd with the luftre of the morn;
And if the felt the paffing figh,
It was of gentleft forrow born.
But now!-I would-I cannot tell
The pangs that on her fenfes prey,
Nor look while one belov'd fo well,
Sits wearied with the brightest day!
Again the fighs; and I must fee
Her vernal hours, o'ercharg'd with grief!
Again the weeps; and I muft fee
That painful tear, without relief!
Oh-GOD OF LOVE! if I may fall

In fuppliance at thine awful throne,
And, while dismay encircles all,

Make my unnoted forrows known. To thee, from depths of deep diftrefs,

I still would raise the bleeding heart;
Nor wilt thou love the fufferer lefs,

Who claims, in hope, his better part.
Mercy is thine; and thou can't heal
The mortal of this mortal man:
And to his mind, thou can't reveal
A better, an immortal plan.

O take Myrtilla to thy care,

And fhield her from the blights of death : O let her all thy goodness share,

And heal her with thy healing breath!

September 6th, 1797.

DE

SONNET.

BY W. S. HONE.

P. COURTIER.

EAR to my foul is chill November's breeze--
The wind which fighs along the lonely walls,
The tempeft's blaft which bares the fapless trees,
And the low rustling of each leaf that falls.
Then, when pale evening throws her mantle o'er
The clear bright profpects of declining day,
I frequent roam till past the midnight hour,
And to its fecret influence homage pay.

Oft when the moon rides in the cloudless sky,
I climb the rocky mountain's fhelvy fide,
And watch the fith-boat's flitting fail pafs by,
While roaring rolls beneath the foaming tide.
Thefe fcenes affuage the pain of inward grief,
Draw forth the filent tear, and give my heart relief.
25th August, 1797.

A

THE STORM.

WAKEN'D by the miracles of God,
Who hurls his thunderbolts precipitate
Thro' the aftounded regions of the air,
At this dark hour of midnight, O my foul,
While warm with life, in wonder meditate
A folemn fong of reverential praise!

Fountain of glory! I adore thy power,
Which governs the tremendous elements,
And thakes the great globe with the influence

Of fiery storm. Angels of light! who found
Deep notes of thunder, publish to the world,
O'er earth, o'er ocean, and to diftant spheres,
The glories of the one Eternal King,

Whofe juftice triumphs, while the earth beholds
Her throne, a cloud of fire, in radiance borne
Aloft, on winged courfers of the flames

Of lightning quick and vivid.

The affairs

Of mortal men, how vain! compar'd with thefe
Immense transactions of the Lord of Being,
Before whom nature trembles! whofe behefts
Are, in a moment, carried to effect

By minifters of water, fire and air,
Follow'd with acclamations more intenfe
Than if the clamours of the multitude
Of every nation, on this beauteous orb,
And founds of war's artillery, were but-one!
O with what force that voice is pour'd abroad:
It seems to rend in twain the vault of heaven
While earth stands witnefs; and the ocean world
Mounts upward from his bed, to fill the void.

Lo! God fpeaks once: fpeaks twice: now man must hear! And own his power unrivalled, and fupreme!

The circuit of immeasurable heaven

Is the fole theatre magnificent,

On which the ruler of the universe

His plans fulfils.

Weak are our thoughts: our words

Be few; in his bright presence let us bow

With veneration, and unfeigned love;

Confcious that He, who faves us from the ftorm,
Who opes the page of darkness visible,
With flashes frequent, and makes day of night-
A folemn day of intermittent flames,

Of lightning, and the fhades of viewlefs night;
That He who is the fount of light and joy,
Will guard our lives with his imperial fhield,
In pain, affliction, and the final grave.
Glory once more to Him who reigns on high!

W. EVANS.

LINES,

Addressed to a couple of Trees at the Extremity of a Walk.

WIN trees! who in full drefs of fummer hue,

TW

Sparkle impeal'd with heaven-defcended dew,
At morn's first beams, while o'er Dart's rugged hills
The new-born fun, with orient splendour fills
His throne in heav'n; the lark with foaring wings
And dawn-invited fwain, their carols fing;
You, vegetable friends! no more rejoice
At early bird's, or man's perfuafive voice,
Than at the tranfient leaf-inspiring tale,
Breath'd by the whifpers of the western gale:
So to the notes of devious pleafure's fong
Deaf, yet a pair in virtue's fun-beams ftrong.
At morn, Lucilius hop'd to spend life's day
With her he lov'd-alas! that hope is flown away.
Tavistock, Auguft, 1797.

SONNET TO DELIA.

H, how they fly-the days of youth and hope!
Juft like the fading memory of a dream.
Remembrance, Delia, of thy kind esteem,
Declines not fo; for that with time fhall cope.

Tho' forrow's felf, with all his malice come;
Tho' fickness enervate, or age benumb;
When the glad east pours forth the fulgent day,
Or, glimmering in the west, it glides away,

Witness it fhall my ardent love for thee;

And, Oh! could time fuch flattering fcenes difplay,
As when I first beheld thy charms fo gay,
To thy kind arms with rapture I would flee,

And there recount thefe years of abfence long;
And there repeat my joys, and there renew my fong!

W. AMPHLETT.