]> Poems, on Various Subjects.Daye, Eliza, b. ca. 1734Ophelia Yimcreation of electronic text.Electronic edition272KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956161999DayeEPoems

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series31Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorPoems, on Various SubjectsDaye, Eliza␣␣Printed by J. M'CreeryLiverpool, 1798[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no: I Suppl:274. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I Suppl:274mf.]

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[Title Page]
POEMS,ONVARIOUS SUBJECTS. BY ELIZA DAYE. 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime'And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,'To charm His ear, whose eye is on the heart;'Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strains,'Whose approbation—prosper even mine.' COWPER. LIVERPOOL,PRINTED BY J. M'CREERY;And Published for the Author, at the SUBSCRIPTION LIBRARY, Lancaster; also for Mr. WALMSLEY and Mr. HOLT; for Mr. JONES, Mr. GORE, and Messrs. WRIGHT and ORMANDY, Liverpool; and for Mr. JOHNSON, St. Paul's Church Yard, London. Price Seven Shillings in Boards; Hot‐pressed, Seven and Six‐pence. 1798.
TO THE PUBLIC.

IT is with humble diffidence I introduce my Poems to the world, confident only of their religious and moral tendency; I rest on that foundation, and willingly submit their other merits to the decision of FAIR CRITICISM.

If the work should not be found strictly correct, I must, in justice to my printer and myself, name my living at a distance from him; and the frequent and long interruptions my ill health, and other circumstances, have occasioned in the publication, very unfavourable to an uniform correctness.

I hope my errata will supply any material defects, and for the rest, I resign myself to the candour of the public.

SUBSCRIBERS NAMES. [Names after the first two are written in double columns in original text.] The Right Reverend the Bishop of Landaff, four copies.The Right Honourable the Earl of Derby, three copies.The late Mr. Bell Mr. George Bell Mrs. BulkleyMrs. BlakeAndrew Cassels, Esq.Mr. John EwartMrs. EwartMiss EthringtonMiss EddieThe Rev. James FosterMiss Grey Miss Gillaspy, three copiesMr. R. GillaspyMr. J. GillaspyThe Rev. Dr. GregoryMrs. GregoryMrs. GrayMrs. HillMrs. Starkie Heywood—— Jervis, Esq.The late Rev. Dr. KippisMiss KelsaleMrs. LewinMrs. MarchMiss Rachel NunesMrs. Pailleret, two copiesMr. Samuel RobinsonMr. SkirrahMr. SandersonMrs. TattersallMr. TomkinsMrs. WalkerMr. Walker, Lecturer in Philosophy, six copiesThe Hon. Joseph Yates. The Amicable SocietyMrs. AndrewsMr. Armstrong, two copiesMrs. Bell, two copiesMr. Benson, two copiesJames Barrow, Esq.The late Jos. Berkley, Esq.Thomas Bond, Esq.Mrs. BrockbankMrs. BrayshayMrs. BusherMr. BurrowMr. William BlackburnMiss BradleyDoctor CampbellThe Rev. P. S. CharrierMiss Dolly CapstickMiss Maria CatonDoctor CasselsMr. CharnleyMrs. DilworthMrs. DockrayMr. DowbigginThe late Mrs. DodsonMr. George DansonMiss EskriggeMr. EcclestoneMrs. FranceMiss Sarah FletcherMrs. FoxcroftMiss FosterThe Rev. James FosterMrs. Gaskell, four copiesMrs. Goldie, two copiesMr. Green, three copiesC. Gibson, Esq. QuarrmoreMrs. GibsonThe Rev. Samuel GirleMrs. R. HousmanMiss HargreavesMiss HeyshamMr. HigginMrs. HoltMr. Robert HindeMrs. JonesMiss JepsonMr. Thomas JacksonMrs. LawsonThe late Rev. Oliver MartonThe late Mrs. MartonMrs. MooreMiss MooreMrs. NobleMr. NobleMiss OatsJohn Proctor, Esq.Mr. Padgett, SurgeonMrs. T. Rawlinson, 3 copiesMiss Mary RawlinsonMiss M. H. Rawlinson John Rawlinson, Esq.Miss Eliza RobinsonThe late Mr. RusselThe Rev. Dr. RigbyMrs. Saul, High‐streetMrs. SuartMrs. Ben. SatterthwaitMiss SatterthwaitMrs. Nicholas SalisburyMiss SalisburyMrs. StablesMiss SharpMr. ShearsonMrs. ThrelfalThe late Mrs. WilsonMiss WilsonThe Rev. J. WatsonThe Rev. James WidditMiss WhalleyMr. Wilson, AttorneyMr. Watkinson Nicholas Ashton, Esq.Mr. A. H. AikinThe Rev. Thomas BlundellThe Rev. William BlacowThe Rev. Thomas BleesdaleMr. French BoldMrs BrandrethMrs. BoothMrs. BrownMiss BlundellMiss BarnesMr. James BrownMiss BevingtonMrs. BrooksMrs. BeakbaneMr. BeakbaneMr Robert BerryDoctor CurrieJames Clegg, Esq.Mrs. R. CoubandMrs. CobhamMiss CeilMrs. ChubbardMiss S. CraggMr. CrossMr. John ConwayMiss CheishamMr. Henry ClarkMr. CoplandMr. J. CoplandMrs. Thos. DownwardCaptain DaviesMrs. DickinsonMrs. Thomas EarleMrs. William EarleMrs. Fazakerly, two copiesMr. FordMr. John Forbes, jun. Mrs. FaircloughMrs. FormbyMiss FisherMrs. FallowsMr. James FremeMr. FawcettMr. John Foster, jun.Mr. FarrerMr. J. FarrerMr. Gregson, two copiesMrs. GibsonMr. E. GilchristMr. Thomas GreyMr. James Gill, two copiesMrs. GolightlyMrs. GraceMr. John GoreMr. GoldieMrs. HardcastleJohn Howard, Esq.Mrs. HurryMr. HusonMr. Thomas Holt, jun.Mr. HoskinsMr. HippiusMr. William HillaryMr. HaslindenMr. Holt, WaltonMiss Huddlestone, EvertonMr. J. JohnsonMr. JumpMiss KingMr. KeartonMr. John KayThe Rev. Robert LewinMiss LeechMrs. LewtasMrs. Leigh, NewtonMr. Edward MolineuxMr. William MatthewsMrs. NorrisMiss NunesMiss NewshamMiss NewtonMr. John NelsonMr. OrredMr. OrmandyMr. Thomas OaksThe Rev. Samuel RenshawWilliam Roscoe, Esq.Mrs. RichmondMiss RiggDoctor RenwickMr. William RenwickMiss Smith, three copiesThe Rev. Joseph SmithMiss SpencerMiss SeelMrs. SteersMrs. SwainsonMrs. SmithMrs. SydebothamMiss ScottMiss Sandback. The Rev. Wm. Shepherd Miss Smith, EvertonMr. James SillMrs. John TarletonMr. TroutbeckMr. M'VicarMiss UnderwoodMiss Mary UnsworthMiss Esther UnsworthMrs. WelchMiss WilliamsMrs. WatsonMrs. WilsonMrs. WildingMiss WilsonMr. WalnMr. WrightMr. Whitehouse, jun.Mr. W. Williams Doctor AlexanderMrs. Alexander Mr. Brown The. Rev. J. Baldwin, M. D. William Jones, Esq. Doctor ParryMrs. Parry, two copies. Mrs. Thompson Mrs. Pinkerton Mrs. AinsworthMr. John NobleMiss NobleMiss Margaret NobleMrs. PilkingtonMrs. Poole Miss BowesThe Rev. Dr. GrisdaleMiss GilpinDoctor HeyshamMr. HutchinsonCharles Nevison, Esq.The Rev. Doctor PaleyMrs. PearsonMiss Kitty PearsonMiss PearsonMiss WaughMrs. Wilkinson Mr. WatkinsMrs. Watkins The Rev. Charles FrankThe Rev. James LambertThe Rev. John Wright The Rev. Thomas Astley, six copiesMrs. Catharine AstleyMrs. Harding, two copies Miss StamfordMr. William Noble Mr. Kellock Mr. Murray Mrs. Huntington, Hull Mrs. Parker Mrs. Wright Mrs. DoranMrs. Gathorne Miss Gowthrop Miss S. GowthropMiss R. GowthropMiss GreenhowMrs. GreenhowRev. John HarrisonMiss HolmesMr. ThompsonMrs. ThompsonMiss P. WhitakerDaniel Wilson, Esq. Dallum TowerMrs. Wilson Mrs. William Dunderdale Mrs. Alcock The Rev. — Aubrey, StandThe Rev. Thomas BarnesMrs. BarnesMrs. BlackmoreMr. BlackmoreThe Rev. —— GrinderodMr. Samuel HardmanMrs. Jones, GreenhillMr. T. Oliphant, six copiesMiss Eliza PotterThe late Mr. James PotterMrs. Potter, ArdwickDr. PercivalMr. Spears Miss Gibson, Hipping HallMr. RimmingtonThe Rev. John TathamEdmund Thornton, Esq. Mrs. Caldwell Mr. Joseph LoweMr. Whiter Miss Milne Mrs. Bunny, three copies Rev. J. Atkinson, WaltonRalphe Asheton, Esq.Mrs Asheton, Cuerdon LodgeJohn Butler, Esq.Mrs. BryerMiss Clayton, Bamber‐bridgeMrs. G. Clayton, Lostock HallMrs. Cowper, WaltonThe Rev. —— EllamsThe Rev. —— EvansThe late Sir Henry Hoghton, Bart. three copiesLady Hoghton, two copiesSir Henry Philip HoghtonDaniel Hoghton, Esq.Miss HornbyMr. Jackson, WaltonThe Rev. —— MiddletonMrs. NorrisMrs. Parker, Cuerdon, two copiesThe late Mrs. Pollard, LelandThe Rev. — Rowe, HuttonThe Rev. S. Shorrocks, RusindaleMiss Wilding Mrs. BirkettMrs. William HarrisonMr. Hull, Attorney at LawThe late Mr. SingletonMr. Wilson, Attorney The late General RotheramMiss Rotheram John Atherton, Esq.Mr. HodgkinsonMrs. Smeathman, two copiesLieutenant StewartMrs. Wareing, Knowsley, two copies Miss Anderson Mr. George Burbeck Mrs. Weddel The Rev. Christopher Hull Miss EatonR. Guillaim, Esq. BewseyMiss JohnsonMrs. KnowlesMiss SibsonMrs. WhitwellMiss Rebecca Watt Mr. Joseph BellMiss BirkettMr. HarrimanMiss Margaret Potter Miss CockeranMiss Magnall Miss Ellwood Mrs. Briscoe Mrs. Hunter Miss Christian The Rev. George BerkeleyDoctor BagnallMrs. BoeMrs. CrothersMrs. M'DonnelGeorge Feeling, Esq.Miss Fanny HincksMr. John Henry HaleyMr. Alexander HumfreyMr. Nicholas Ford LaneThe Rev. Dr. MoodyMrs. Malkin, two copiesMrs. PostlethwaiteMrs. W. RocheMrs. RobinsonMrs. SankeyMiss TaylorMrs. UnderwoodAbraham Wilkinson, Esq. Miss Jane Augusta Roche
CONTENTS. THE Myrtle,1Birth‐day Ornaments,6The Laurel,13Appearance and Reality,19Family of Adversity,23To Chloe,39Sonnet,41To Anna,42Song,44To Belinda,45Extempore lines to a young lady, with an anemone,47To Amanda on her recovery from sickness,48On the sudden death of a friend,51To the memory of the late Rev. C. R——m,53The three lamps, or the hermit of the wood,54To Delia,81To three young ladies, on their birth‐day,84Sonnets,86To Eliza S——91Two pieces to a friend,94Ode to Hope,96Written at W——y C——g, in October at sunset,99At the same place,102On the death of Mr. George Kendall, 104Wit and Judgment,106A last visit to W—y C—g, on the sickness of Mrs W—y,112On the death of a young gentleman,115On the death of Mrs. Miriam Gillison,117On the death of Mrs. Anne Gillison,119To the memory of a friend of my early youth,122 The birth of Genius,124Extempore lines on seeing Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera,152Sonnets,154Soliloquy,164On friendship,167On the death of an amiable youth,169Song,171The question,174Sonnet,176Upon a young bee,178On finding a strayed child,180William and Ellen, a ballad,182Sonnets and Songs,192Ode to Health,202To a sick friend,204Thoughts before the interment of a friend, 206On the inscription on my mother's monument being defaced,208Hymns, adapted to several occasions,210Lancaster Castle,253
ERRATA.Page 8, line 4, read adorn'd, for edged.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣8,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣They tremble as they.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣9,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣ 7,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣When winding.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣8,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Upon for on.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣54,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 4,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Then, for Since.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣58,␣␣␣␣␣ 11,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Mariner.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣12,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣trusts and counts.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣63,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣8, ␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣inspiring.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣69,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 2,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣chains.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣70,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 9,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣charms adorn.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣71,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 4,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣others.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣5,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣each word.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣72,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 3,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣said.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣74,␣␣␣␣␣ 13,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣humble.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣76,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 5␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣cries.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣89,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 9,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Omit one of the articles.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣93,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 4,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣is, for are.␣␣␣␣␣␣102,␣␣␣␣␣13,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣powers.␣␣␣␣␣␣103,␣␣␣␣ 11,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Place the comma after like.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣ 13,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣tree.␣␣␣␣␣␣127,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 2,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣displays.␣␣␣␣␣␣128,␣␣␣␣␣ 23,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣light, for night.␣␣␣␣␣␣133,␣␣␣␣␣ 21,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣charms are.␣␣␣␣␣␣135,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣1,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣modest doubts, for diffidence.␣␣␣␣␣␣147,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣1,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣nymphs.␣␣␣␣␣␣150,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 1,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣He, for She.␣␣␣␣␣␣ ␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣8,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Only a comma, and no break in the paragraph.␣␣␣␣␣␣153,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 8,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣forget.␣␣␣␣␣␣164,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣3,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣all, for each.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣ 17,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣they, for each.␣␣␣␣␣␣168,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 7,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣known.␣␣␣␣␣␣216,␣␣␣␣␣ 10,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣you, for yon.␣␣␣␣␣␣231,␣␣␣␣␣␣19,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣design'd.␣␣␣␣␣␣233,␣␣␣␣␣ 13,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣possest, for the best.␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣16,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣Must, for that.␣␣␣␣␣␣239,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 6,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣shalt.␣␣␣␣␣␣250,␣␣␣␣␣ 11,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣my contrite prayers.␣␣␣␣␣␣255,␣␣␣␣␣␣ 7,␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣␣as memory's tints are found.
 POEMS. [THE MYRTLE]Upon a lady losing a sprig of Myrtle, presented to her by her husband, on the morning of their marriage. NOW beneath pale Luna's beam,Fairies sport, while mortals dream;Cruel schemes they plan to‐night,Mischief charms each pigmy sprite;Hear, enraged, their frowning queen,Thus exclaim, with jealous spleen;Shall a mortal dare be blest,When sad Titania cannot rest?Thwart their marriage, fairy elves,Or scorn and hate pursue yourselves. Thrice I wave my magic wand,Your signal to prepare;Obedient to your queen's command,Ascend the ambient air.Five times compass round the earthEre day your motions bind;Thence bring each scatter'd mischief forth,Pandora once confin'd.Blooms yon bower in summer's pride?Soon shall my fell revenge,Poisons in every beauty hide,And nature's charms shall change.Quick as thought my elves begone,Impatient as my mind,Fly swift before the tardy moon,And leave e'en light behind. Instant see the work is wrought,See the scattered mischiefs brought;In Palemon's fav'rite bower,Quick they taint each beauteous flower.Diseases weave their baneful net,Round the sweetest minionet.On the jessamine's snowy breast,Cold Indifference takes its rest;While Discord's evils to disclose,It lurks within the blooming rose.Jealousy its venom twines,Round the greenest eglantines;Deceit, which ever wounds unseen,Takes the gay carnation's mien.While beneath the woodbine's shade,Sad Despair reclines his head,Sullen, tainting by his power,The freshest leaf and sweetest flower;But the myrtle I deplore,Of love the emblem—ah! no more.Envy spreads her hateful sway,All its wonted charms decay.The hour that gives a life to joy,Must all our anxious thoughts employ.Palemon, early from his bower,Plucks many a sweet and fatal flower;And oft he would with transport cry,I take you to a milder sky. Accept, he said, most lov'd and fair,The sweets which may with thee compare.Health o'er her cheek its roses threw,Diseases ghastly forms withdrew,She look'd—and cold Indifference fled,The jessamine hung its pallid head;She spoke—the blooming rose must die,For discord turn'd to harmony.The eglantine was next subdued,For jealousy can ne'er obtrude,Where conscious worth and native sense,Inspire a generous confidence.Her candid speech, her heart sincere,The gay carnation next must fear;Honour and innocence still rise,Superior to a low disguise.The woodbine felt a quick decay,For soon she smiled despair away;Graces which other ills subdued,Were but bitter Envy's food.Palemon, with a cheering eye,Observed, that beauty bloom'd to die,But Hebe's merit still would prove,The bond of undecaying love.Preserving still its native hue,Unimpair'd the myrtle grew,Palemon vow'd to plant with care,What withering blasts had meant to spare,And with th' auspicious day's return,In Hebe's breast it should be worn.Cynthia now with silver light,Gilds the silent hour of night ;Again the fairy tribe are seen,And sprightly moves their alter'd queen;She laughing tells her kinder sprite,The mischiefs they had wrought last night.And see, she cried, stern envy bloom,For many a woe and wrong to come;Swift the friend of lovers flies,To steal the baneful cherish'd prize;But this fair Hebe did not see,Or would she ask an elegy? THEBIRTH‐DAY ORNAMENTS.PERSON and mind, we must confess,Receive from polish and from dressA charm to point the native grace,The virtuous heart, the beauteous face;But faults in each, refuse their aid,And more adorn'd are more display'd;Can polish'd vice the good engage?A viper in a gilded cage! 'Twas thus the tender parent thought,When his adorning gifts he brought;My child, he said, my Rosaline,* And all the father beam'd divine,Benignant May now cheers the earth,And this day twelve years was thy birth;May it be mine this day to bring,Important treasures to thy spring.And thy lost mother to restore,Give thee the ornaments she wore;For these, while here we were allied,With love and me were all her pride.Evander then in accents mild,Thus with his gifts address'd his child.My sweetest Rose, attention pay,And fix thy thoughts on what I say;If these from you no worth receive,How vainly does my fondness give.For here, the wise no value trace,Till these are joined by kindred grace;And first, he said, my Rosaline,This OZIER WAND'S by nature thine,Alas! it was in Eden broke,Evander sighing as he spoke;The giver there how much forgot,Ordained it your peculiar lot;Whene'er it bends to just command,See, how it blooms beneath the hand;Keep it my child, with care thro' life,It suits the daughter and the wife,And tho' it marks no present sway,To rising honours leads the way;'Tis planted first in wisdom's school,And leads the mighty to their rule.*There is no affection so pure and angelic, as that of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives, there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but in that to our daughters, there is something which there are no words to express—Spectator, No. 449. A VEIL he next display'd to view,Edg'd with PEARLS of blooming hue;He thus proceeded, these you see,Wear the sweet blush of MODESTY;When thus drawn forth, compell'd to shew,Mark how trembling is the glow;This serves you in a double sense,An ornament and a defence;Its timid lustre can unfold,A sacred charm to awe the bold;Give every beauty softer grace,And add ideal loveliness,The beauteous ensign of your fame,And woman's glory is its name;Again he paus'd to view his child,With timid look, she blushing smil'd. A brilliant WATCH the next he brought,It's chain with many an emblem wrought;The cock, prime herald of the dawn,The loaded bee, from flowery lawn.Silkworms and spiders at their looms,And ants that hoard ere winter comes;Its worth admiring, as he viewed,His theme Evander thus pursued,My Rose, 'till time shall pass away,Be this the emblem of thy day;With this pursue thy steady course,'Tis action gives to virtue force,Loitering, you as this machine,Some spring to good have wrong within;Winding up this splendid toy,On yourself your thoughts employ,And since life here, to you was given,To fit you for a life in heaven;Ask with every setting sun,What for heaven has Rosaline done? The gift that courted next her sight,Was a clear ROBE, of SPOTLESS WHITE;The father said, my Rosaline,This, with its kindred grace be thine,By all the good and wise confest,The pride of virtue and of taste;Free as the air, open as day,Children this beauteous robe display.And thence, the prince of love and peace,Declares, of such my kingdom is;Much merit should this gift impart,And, all its wearers shew the heart;It is the dress which angels wear,And thought their purest emblem here;Evander ceased, rejoiced to see,His child possess SIMPLICITY. A TURBAN to adorn the HEAD,Was the rich present next display'd;Gems from every country brought,Work which every age had wrought;There arts and science spread their store,In brilliant types, from every shore;And as its value stood confest,Evander thus his thoughts exprest,This gift a value must possess,Too rich, some think, for female dress;Its worth to know exceeds your powers,And nature meant it only ours;Whoe'er these narrow claims have spread,But little of themselves have said;Little discernment have they shown,Who have your worth so little known.How can their rugged bosoms prove,Exalted friendship, tender love.By no such vanity beguil'd,I give it thee my darling child,Tho' in itself a boundless store,With caution let it still be wore.On you, it was not meant for show,Tho' there be those who wear it so,From all conceit, still wear it free,Beneath the veil of modesty.A conscious joy the father took,From Rosaline's inquiring look,And as his last best gift he draws,He views it with a solemn pause, Conceal'd the moisture of his eye,And half suppress'd the rising sigh,Assum'd composure ere he spoke,And thus his tender silence broke,Thou dearest object of my cares,Accept the gifts my love prepares,But vain the value of the rest,If this, the chief, be not carest;Then, thro' this CRYSTAL every day,My presents carefully survey,Thro' this, inspect my gifts of love,How they decay, or they improve,To what the wise shall recommend,If fitly, meek OBEDIENCE bend,This will a gentle firmness show,To dignify the MODEST glow;Display your best pursuits, and thence,Incite to active DILIGENCE,And by a conscience free from harm,Show INNOCENCY'S open charm,Extending every virtue's sphere,You see the worth of KNOWLEDGE here;Tis thus the wise, with steady eye,Their morals by RELIGION try,And if with these thro' life you move,Our joys our virtues you improve,With fond attentions, ceaseless cares,Tis woman guards our infant years;Her kind compassions sooth in death,And she receives our parting breath. THE LAUREL.Ah scenes belov'd in vain,I feel the gales that from you blow.A momentary bliss bestow,As waving fresh their gladsome wing,My weary soul they seem to smooth,And redolent of joy and youth,To breathe a second spring.GRAY. THAT fortune's fickle, beauty frail,Has been the theme of many a tale,And solemn bards, with soaring eye,Have traced our passage to the sky.That earthly honours quickly pass,That life's a dream, and flesh is grass,Are truths the preacher would impart,In melting lessons to the heart,And, if on beauty, wealth, or fame,You dare to build a haughty claim,The moralist again would try,To wean your hearts from vanity.Attend, ye beauties of a day,For you I dress my moral lay,You, who to wealth or fame aspire,For you I tune my willing lyre. There lived a maid, Eliza named,Who was for nothing very famed,With beauty she was never blest,And this her sex can well attest,To fortune she as little owed,A circumstance well understood,All her pretensions, all her aim,Was to deserve an honest name;With modesty to live retired,And leave the gay to be admired,A shepherd, skill'd in flattery's lore,However, sent some verses to her,He prais'd her for ideal graces,And wrong he was in many places,Tho' wrong, she knew he meant no evil,And thought he was exceeding civil,She told him, as in duty bound,She wish'd he were with laurel crown'd;A nymph there was of lovely mien,Who lived at that time on the green,No fitter subject for his muse,The poet sure could ever chuse;And ready for his similies,The earth and sky before him lies;To him the garden yields its pride,The mine its treasures cannot hide,And little brooks, and mighty seas,He pilfers with the greatest ease,Oh! for the magic of his art,To sooth the weakness of the heart;And on the sunbeam of an eye,To rise to immortality;My humbler muse, alone must tell,I knew the nymph and lov'd her well,Much merit she might justly claim,And Hannah was the fair one's name;As cheerfully they pass'd the day,Together oft these nymphs would stray,And once a laurel they espy'd,Which rais'd its head with conscious pride;The tree a little garden graced,And by a lowly cot was placed,They pitied that Apollo's care,Should waste its classic honours there,The thought to flattering Colin led,How much its leaves would grace his head,Equally pleas'd with the intent,They instant to the cottage went,The dame, for whom the laurel grew,No Daphne or Apollo knew,The ladies spoke her very fair,Told her they saw a laurel there,If she could such a favor grant,Some of it's leaves they soon should want;The dame replied, they were too good,On such a trifle to have stood,But near the road, and low the wall,They might, for her, have ta'en them all;It was a tree she had no good in,Except indeed to mend a pudding,And then in winter it was green,A time one valued such a thing,But they were welcome to a part,Of her tree's leaves, with all her heart.With skilful hands, fair Hannah weaves,Apollo's consecrated leaves,Nor e'er before or since was seen,So gay a garland on that green,Its waving circles gaily play'd,To crown the favour'd poet's head.A sylph, who trod the rural scene,In haste convey'd it o'er the green;The yielding doors soon open flew,And full she shone on Colin's view;He hail'd her as a nymph divine,She him a favourite of the Nine,The prize of wit she then display'd,Wishing to see it on his head.His head—his dinner scarce begun,On honour—less than eating run,It is a truth the shepherd owns,He thought of salads more than crowns:But such a slight soon to repair,He view'd it with attentive care,And on its leaves he found a note,Which simply thus the ladies wrote. 'Let gold and gems, a pond'rous weight,'Surround the care‐worn brow of state,'And may the mournful yew be spread,'O'er the cold ashes of the dead.'While the gay rose and myrtle twin'd,'The happy lover's temples bind.'But may the head of sad despair,'A wreathe of drooping willow wear.'While still at friendship's sacred shrine,'The vine should round the elm entwine.'But when a poet we have found,'With laurel shall the bard be crown'd.' 'Twas with surprize the damsels learn'd,The shepherd had the crown return'd.He said Eliza ought to wear it,Nor would he e'en pretend to share it.Well pleas'd she kept the gilded crown,By flattery more beauteous grown.A vision now I introduce,Is aught denied the poet's use?But ladies, that it need not fright,It is no imp that shuns the light,Or haunts the mansions of the dead,From them it is for ever fled,Its being rose when earth began,And ends but with the race of man;Its silent path was swiftly trod,And many victims strew'd its road,Its hands a scythe and hourglass bore,To mark its progress and its pow'r,It touch'd the crown, which own'd its stroke,While thus to reason's ear it spoke.— 'A boundless conqueror am I, 'Nor boast of partial victory; 'I take this trifling toy from you, 'And mighty empires I subdue.Her faded crown Eliza view'd,And thus the moral thought pursued—Faded trifle, passing jest,Mimic pageant of a day,No more for laurels we'll contest,Prizes which time shall bear away. APPEARANCE AND REALITY. VIRTUE and prudence once agreed,In Hymen's bands their lives to lead;Their offspring daughters prov'd to be,Appearance and Reality.In mutual harmony they grew,And equal joy their parents knew;With looks serene and accent mild,Virtue address'd her eldest child.A parent's heart can only know,The joys that in my bosom glow;When I behold my first‐born care,So more than all my wishes fair.The rose which paints thy beauteous cheek,The snow that whitens o'er thy neck,The gems which sparkle in thine eyes,Fill all my soul with fond surprize,Not only in myself I rest,Appearance joins to make me blest.Thy beauties every heart can warm,And virtue thro' thy means must charm.But oh my daughter! hear my voice,Thy sister's worth be still thy choice,And boast no charm, whate'er it be,Forgetful of Reality.Her merits to the world display,While she secures thy bounded sway. Prudence his anxious fears confess'd,And thus his fav'rite charge address'd,My darling child! in thee I find,Thy mother's graces all combin'd,Each feature of her lovely face,With fond delight in thee I trace.But let my daughter now attend,And hear the counsels of her friend.Tho' solid worth be all thy own,Appearance best can make it known.Her varied graces all admire,Appearance every breast can fire,Give her a place within thy heart,And all thy worth she shall impart. Thus hand in hand the sisters went, And fill'd their parents with content.Reality's more solid worth,Appearance studied to set forth.While she secured her sister's claim,And gave Appearance spotless fame.Their tender love soon care beguil'd,Till virtue left her darling child,Appearance then with forward mien,Before her sister still was seen,Unbounded lures around she spread,Nor ever for her sister staid.And such her soft attractive grace,In every heart she found a place;Not long deceiv'd the wise could be,They found she'd left Reality.And soon the subjects of her reign,Were but the thoughtless and the vain. 'Twas with contempt her sister saw,The servile herd about her draw,And when her father's head was laid,She scorn'd to sue to her for aid,But conscious of her native worth,Without Appearance ventur'd forth.Vainly she seeks to find a friend,Her hidden merits none commend,Without Appearance few would seeThe merits of Reality.Their error now the sisters find,Experience shows their interest join'd,Virtue and Prudence must delight,To see their offspring still unite. THE FAMILY OF ADVERSITY.

The writer of this poem wishes first to consider adverse situations in that point of view, wherein they are productive of invention, the mistress of all the mechanic powers; and in the second place to point out how far the heart may be improved, and the understanding enlarged, by a patient submission to those trials which it may be our lot to experience.

TO thee the fatal Urn* was given,Dispenser of the wrath of heaven,Sad treasurer of human woe!Sparing the dire contents bestow,Nor suddenly thy terrors pour,O'erwhelming in th' unguarded hour.'Till of thy clouded gifts we learn,Th' intrinsic value to discern:Our joy from sorrow to procure,And rise from ardent trials pure.*Two Urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,The source of evil one, and one of good.Iliad, Book 24. Where pleasure with her festive train,Had shone with bright but transient reign,By sad reverse was quickly seen,A matron of a sordid mien.For sofas soft—with velvet spread,Her seats were on the broken reed;For pearls—which golden robes adorn,For gems—which bid the gazer turn,Her mournful garments now display,The veil which shades the absent day.For melting sounds, 'twas joy to hear,When dying on the list'ning ear,Harsh discords still to her belong,And hoarse the raven screams his song.Where myrtle's fragrance did exhale,And roses more perfum'd the gale.The drooping willow there she view'd,And life‐destroying upas* strew'd.To sum the whole of earthly grace,Where shone the mind illumin'd face,And as the animating soul,Gave vital vigour to the whole.Her looks for fear alone were made,And horror in deep furrows laid,Where gay amusements used to cheer,Her's were to human thought severe.Nor costly viands suit her need,On human tears compell'd to feed.A fatal change her presence wrought,And gardens into desarts brought.The pumice stone oft mark'd her road,And verdure faded where she trod.* Where seas of glass in gay reflection smile,Round the green coasts of Java's happy isle;Soft zephyrs blow, eternal summers reign,And showers prolific bless the soil—in vain!Fierce in dread silence on the blasted heath,Fell upas sits, the hydra tree of death.BOTANIC GARDEN. Full many a child this matron bore,And train'd them to her rugged lore,Ruthless—her bosom could forego,The tenderness that mothers show,Tho' wayward tempers should misuse,The fond caress they best can use.By terrors only skill'd to rule,Remorseless was her rigid school.And yet, beneath her rugged care,Arose a train of daughters fair,For heaven their souls she well refin'd,Or sent them forth to bless mankind.'Twas soon her joy, if joy e'er came,To train her first to deeds of fame.Teach her aspiring eye to soar,And give her arm unequall'd power;And by the woes she made her feel,Remov'd each dread of other ill.Her massy weapons high she'd wield,And teach how hardest rocks must yield:They bear the print of many a wound,And distant far her strokes resound,Their strokes so deep, to echo tell,Who trembling! counts them in her cell.And thus she said, and sternly frown'd,Resistless I am ever found,Heir of my fortune! yield to fate,I shall instruct thee to be great,Unaw'd by threats, unchang'd by woes.Superior still the damsel rose,Aiming her parent to delight,She robed herself in purest white.All vain her fury to disarm,For what can rugged natures charm:And soon to urge her daughter's fate,She led her thro' her gloomy state.Her barren desarts first she show'd,From these she said receive thy food.Vainly were her intreaties made,To guard her there her mother staid,She turn'd her piercing eye around,To view th' inhospitable ground.Yet in extremity of woe,Despair she still disdain'd to know.At length, to meet her searching eyes,A bended wand, well pleas'd she spies,She seized it with presaging smile,And oft she turn'd the barren soil;Which as she turn'd, all fair to view,A nymph her quick attention drew;The golden sheaves which harvest spread,Composed a garland for her head.She in her hand a basket bore,With many a plant, and seed, and flow'r,And as a cheering look she throws,A tree all fresh and blooming rose,And its gay branches to entwine,Luxuriant wound the curling vine.This crown she said, by Ceres wrought,To thee undaunted maid I've brought.Vertumnus and Pomona join,To hail thee too, with gifts divine.Nature shall at thy touch revive,And Flora's beauteous offspring live.Thee I attend, aspiring maid,To strew these gifts where thou shalt lead.And soon a fresher verdure rose,And soon the golden harvest glows;Thro' fertile vallies rivers glide,And foliage cloaths the mountain's side,Sweet herbage decks the fragrant field,And orchards all their treasures yield. Tho' in her own created ground,No gentler was her mother found;Think not she said to rest thee here,Thy glory must be purchased dear,Then cleave for me that rugged oak,And learn to move yon solid rock;Prepare thee for this wond'rous deed,By me compell'd, thou must succeed.Full oft she views her task severe,With anxious thought, attentive care.In silence bids her active mind,Assistance for her trials find.And many a thought repulsed again,By many an effort weak and vain;Could not subdue th' aspiring aim,To add these glories to her name;Till half refin'd from earthly mold,Her mind illumin'd, could beholdThe pow'r who with the gifts of gods,Descends to comfort man's abodes.Slow she trod the earth she bless'd,Her silver locks a circle press'd;As she majestic took her way,These words she said, or seem'd to say:As light of day and midnight oil,Witness'd thy unremitting toil,To thy extended mind is giv'nThe choicest blessings under heav'n;Reward of many an anxious hour,Receive these gifts, and try their pow'r,Now cleave the oak and raise the rock,And earth's deep storehouses unlock.The damsel saw with eager eyes,Their wonder working power she tries.To shew her deeds, the time would fail,Volumes could scarcely tell the tale;How all the treasures earth had stor'd,She for the use of man explor'd,And suiting to his wants applied,And o'er the ocean was his guide;Thro' her the weak the strong restrain,And to their use the mighty train;As mistress of each useful art,She rose endear'd to ev'ry heart;Nor here her mother seal'd her worth,But more accomplish'd sent her forth,And to the useful, taught to joinAll that could polish and refine,Delight the eye, enchant the ear,And steal the spirit from its care.Thus from a rigid parent soars,A daughter whom the world adores,Counting the trials she has foil'd,All hate the mother, love the child. THE FAMILY OF ADVERSITY. ADVERSITY! if e'er thy dart,With poignant sting has touch'd my heart,If, sick'ning to my mortal taste,Thy cup to me has ever past;Oh may thy wounds with soundness heal,Thy bitter draughts with vigour fill;That so unblamed I now may trace,The brightest daughter of thy race;Thy second lovely to be seen,Of tend'rest heart and mildest mein,With each engaging grace her own,Ne'er charm'd away her mother's frown.Who ever, strange as it appears,Seem'd most delighted with her tears;Yet skill'd to torture, joy she show'd,And mock'd her with delusive good. Of me severe, the offspring mild,Hear me, she said, obedient child;All fair to view, from me receive,The portion I deceitful give;Smiling malignant as she rose,There if thou can'st, she said, repose.Then on with sullen step she leads,The path her child obedient treads;Possess, she said, by my command,Fit scenes for a correcting hand,Whose prospect now delights thine eyes,The fairy land of promises;Where my gay sister keeps her court,Where all the willing world resort,To taste the bounties of her store,Which few enjoy but all adore.Her dangerous gifts let VIRTUE fear,And still remember I am near. New charms still nearer views display'd,As onward goes the artless‐maid;Each flatt'ring scene subdued its part,And shared the feelings of her heart,And now the form appear'd in view,Whose charms surrounding vot'ries drew.With brilliance dress'd, with fragrance crown'd,And hands that spread her favours round.As from an urn, all to delight,She drew her treasures infinite.Whate'er employ'd a mortal care,All that inspir'd a hope was there.Health's vital vigour nerv'd the strong,Pleasure's soft charms allur'd the young,She honour's purple robe bequeaths,And blind ambition's random wreathes;Grandeur to vacant pride affords,And fills the grasping miser's hoards:She pomgranates and myrtles joins,And loves perennial bands entwines;Beauty was there—the world to charm,And wit—that could the wise disarm:And gratitude, and perfum'd praise,That gifts enhance, and merits raise.She flatt'ry's honey'd poison draws,To swell the vain, with false applause.She friendship's purest flame could light,And there the vine and elm unite. The urn, the nymph with transport views,And meekly to the goddess sues:Pity she said my state forlorn,To hatred of my parent born;Me rescue from a doom so hard,And from that parent be my guard.A languid look the goddess gave,Again she pleads her pow'r to save,While prostrate she that pow'r ador'd,She humbly thus her gifts implor'd. I pour not here my humble pray'r,For joy which takes no tint of care;For more myself to know,Goddess, perhaps thy gifts bestow'd,To me were the securer good,Chasten'd by shades of woe. Yet smooth my rugged parent's frown,Her thorns, oh may thy roses crown;Thy light, her shades among,With vernal hope rise ever new,While timid fear of changing hue,Warns my approach to wrong. Bestow thine aromatic wreathe,While here the vital air I breathe,With health my temples bind,If there should mix some faded leaves,For transient pain my bosom grieves,Shall joy be more refin'd. Now meek contentment's olives bring,Let cheerfulness her rubies fling,Upon my sighing breast.With syren song, and transient rose,By giddy youth be pleasure chose,Repented when possest. May blind ambition's random crown,Be on disorder'd passion thrown,Which aims some airy height,But honour's purple robe bestow,Whose guiltless smile, and open brow,Shall more than fame delight. Of gold I ask no mighty store,I shrink from fortune's dangerous pow'r,Yet oh, that share impart;Which leaves a little to bestow,To ease some want of sighing woe,Raise, not corrupt my heart. The passion and the tender care,While wealth and beauty amply share,Be mine the safer helm;Of friendship at whose hallowed shrine,Oh goddess! now for me entwineThe vine around the elm. Sincerity, of heart so pure,With confidence that rests secure,And faith's unbroken seal;Solicitude so swift to serve,With constancy that cannot swerve,Her presence shall reveal. Her pray'r to hear the goddess seems,And smiles her into golden dreams,And health's fresh rose and balmy wreathes,The goddess freely now bequeathes.But soon her mother touch'd the crown,All its salubrious sweets are flown:Hemlock and deadly nightshade now,Compose a garland for her brow;And ev'ry boon the goddess gives,Her mother blasts as she receives.And now she frown'd upon her view,Nor more the nymph could joy pursue.No more, she said, my sister seek,In gifts revers'd 'tis I who speak,Now tainting health's salubrious gale,I bring disease, and thou art pale;But ask thy heart, and it shall tell,What blessings may with sickness dwell;It early calms all anxious strife,For the frail vanities of life;The brittle tenure of thy days,It marks, and wisdom guides thy ways.Another's pain to thee reveals,And all thy soften'd bosom feels.I wave with scorn the peacock's plumes,And honour's purple robe consumes,From slander's tongue, and pride's parade,Receive a grace which cannot fade;Slander and scorn themselves deceive,Then nobly pity and forgive;Thine innocence thy breast shall calm,And crown thee with thy native palm;I by injustice turn the scales,And thy expected treasure fails;But inward turn and there explore,Resources unperceiv'd before,What prosp'rous days awhile conceal'd,Adversity has oft reveal'd;As stars, obscured by dazzling light,Adorn the sable brow of night; For gratitude so rich in storeTo make the benefactors poor; I overpow'ring ivy bring, And the embosom'd adder's sting. If what thy bounty could impart Flow'd from the feelings of thy heart, The joys thy kind intentions earn, Arise above a base return;For praise which merit might enhance,I bring thee envy's bas'lisk glance;And for the concord of the heart,Point enmity's keen forked dart;The dying fern and choaking reed,To love's perennial bands succeed.The vine shall bind the elm no more,Nor friend protect, nor love adore.These bitter dregs, now drain my bowl,And purify thy spotless soul. Of me severe, the offspring mild,I give the world my darling child,Above all theory of speech,To live the lessons others teach;Her presence solitude shall cheer,And ev'ry public bliss endear;With equal fortitude shall own,A martyr's, or a monarch's crown. Tho' many were the numbers more,Of children whom this matron bore,Than these among the shining race,None more exalted could we trace;Their hearts to soften, minds enlarge,Was her severe and fav'rite charge. CHLOE. PAINTER exert thy utmost art,To shew the fav'rite of my heart;Roses and lilies thou may'st spare,Chloe can please, yet is not fair;Thy Venus may the world admire,It is to Chloe I aspire;One added grace should'st thou display,My Chloe's charms would fade away;Let nature on thy canvass shine;It is my Chloe! 'tis divine! Be Chloe's mind the poet's theme,No fancied merits let him dream;O'er fair perfection should he rove,It is a mortal that I love;Yet goodness in my Nymph I see,Or Chloe had no charms for me:Let truth and nature teach his tongue,And artless Chloe grace his song.He sings her generous and sincere,And there my Chloe must appear.A sister's merits she'll commend;My Chloe too, can be a friend,All gay and lively tho' she be,Can melt in tenderest sympathy.See truth and nature grace each line,It is my Chloe! 'tis divine! TO ——— THO' faintly shines this winter's sun,And short his visits be,He warms my heart, for oft I hope,He shines on you and me. The moon too, beauteous queen of night,Enraptur'd still I see;For sure I think her rays serene,Are seen by you and me. And gaily burns our rural fire,And happy should I be,But cold's my heart, there wants a charm,It warms not you and me. And fiercely blows this cold north wind,For ruffian blasts has he;But bitterer far that zephyr's breeze,Which parted you and me. TO ANNA. BASKING thus in fortune's way,Would you leave so bright a day?See the captive lover wait,Must you die to seal his fate?Hark! the poet tunes his lyre,Cruel! would you damp his fire?Balmy zephyrs court your breath,Not the bitter blasts of death:Bright in youth and beauty's charms,Do you seek his icy arms?Oh must friendship plead in vain,Can you give so keen a pain? Once, as ancient stories tell,Music prov'd its pow'r in hell;Music in the hand of love,E'en the ear of death could move,And its adamantine chainsMelted at harmonious strains.Live, and bloom in fortune's ray,While she gives so bright a day.Live, and be the poet's theme,Feed the rapture of his dream;Let a friendship most refin'd,Beam its comforts on your mind;Softer than a western breeze,It shall breathe to give you ease,All affection can inspire,Apollo's wit and Orpheus' lyre. SONG. SINCE Colin appear'd on our plains,Our village is happy and gay;His presence enlivens the year,And winter is pleasing as May. Tho' he lives the delight of the fair,No envy their bosoms alarms;His good‐nature so flatters them all,Each maid thinks him won by her charms. But I, tho' so friendless and poor,He says am the choice of his heart;And sure I shall trust in a swain,Who never descended to art. I speak of the belles of the town,I tell him how handsome they be;But merit the shepherd admires,And he fancies he finds it in me. How much then to Colin I owe,Each action of life shall impart;While it speaks in the glance of my eye,It shall live in the wish of my heart. I'll rise with the break of the dawn,And neat shall our cottage be seen,In Summer, how fragrant and gay,In Winter, so warm and so clean. TO BELINDA. THE wing'd inhabitant of air,Thro' nature freely roves,And his harmonious notes proclaim,'Tis liberty he loves. Till doom'd by some relentless hand,To share a pris'ner's fate,He flutters round his narrow cell,And pecks his iron grate. Vainly he tries his plaintive notes,And struggles to be free;Till wearied nature bids him yieldTo sad necessity. Soon in his little cage he findsWhat nature gave before,And banish'd from his safe retreat,'Twere liberty no more. When thus Belinda you had fixedGay Strephon in your chains,You doubtless thought your captive swain,A conquest worth your pains. Free as the feather'd songster once,He tells you with a sigh,That life and freedom's in your chains,But death in liberty. EXTEMPORE LINES,To a Young Lady with an Anemone. IN loves soft empire, beauty boasts to reign;Yet beauty's queen once mourn'd her empire vain,Unmoved by scorn, her undiminish'd truth,Changed into this gay flower the breathless youth,The worth of constant woman still to raise,So tell the fabled tales of ancient days. The fair Narcissus oft your favour tried,And oft you threw the scented fop aside;Here native beauty, vivid colours glow,Your present vot'ry is no perfum'd beau;His honour'd station be a lady's breast,His charter held, from what he once possess'd. TO AMANDA,On her recovery from sickness. WHEN April turns his wat'ry eye,That stain'd his infant cheek with tears,And beneath a golden sky,The blooming May appears;Waked by the tears which April shed,Gay Flora leaves her sleeping bed,And calls her beauteous train,To hail a scene, so sweet, so fair,Each artless warbler fills the airWith an enchanting strain. Sad Philomela's mournful songs,Chaste Cynthia's silver beams invite, Melodiously to speak her wrongs,To the pale shades of night.While the shrill lark salutes the morn,And hails the God of Day's return,With many a sprightly lay;Gay flowers present their fragrant bloom,Mild zephyrs catch the rich perfume,To scent the op'ning day. Not the sweet warblers of the grove,Nor the shrill lark's exalted strain;Hail more pleased the scenes they love,More welcome Flora's train,Than I, when health her roses shed,Upon Amanda's drooping head,And rais'd her languid frame;Would bid my Muse, her transports show,And paint the sympathetic glow,Inspired by friendship's name. Not flowers more freely spread their bloom,More freely their rich fragrance bring,The gentle zephyr to perfume,And deck the lap of Spring,Than would I now cull ev'ry sweet,Hygeia's lovely form to greet,And bless that healing pow'r,Who opens on Amanda's sight,Rejoicing friends, renew'd delight,Led by each golden hour. Far gayer garlands I had wove,But sullen grief, and anxious care;Stole them from the hand of love,And placed a cypress there*.Sportive, as fancy's frolic dream,Euphrosyne had graced my theme, My cheerful lyre had strung;But grief and fear oppos'd her reign,And Philomela's pensive strain,Must hang upon my tongue. * The death of one friend, and dangerous illness of another. ON THEDEATH OF A FRIEND. AH me! then is Philida gone?But now! and so blythe as they tell?Yes, hark! her mild spirit is flown,I hear my poor Philida's bell.Stern death counts the Virtues his foes,For they parry a while his fierce dart;So he learnt where they met to repose,And struck gentle Philida's heart.I'll wander by moon‐shine along,I'll seek out some shadow retir'd,For Philida lov'd not a throng,Nor bustle or grandeur admir'd.And near it I'll pensively stray,I'll watch 'till its soft tints shall fade;For pity I'll beg it to stay,And think it is Philida's shade.The west breeze I hear softly blow,And my harp's sweetest chords it employs;The sounds tho' they mournfully flow,Sooth not like my Philida's voice.She is gone! in friendship and love,Here no more shall I Philida see;A span, and I too shall remove,And happy near Philida be. TO THE MEMORY OFTHE LATE REV. C—— R——. WHERE heavenly precept bright example taught,And truths divine, a clear conviction wrought;Aided by that persuasive eloquence,The charm of language, and the force of sense.When death has silenc'd that instructive speech,Nor more that tongue important truths shall teach;While memory's darling records she can trace,In characters no time or change erase.The muse her mournful tribute humbly pays,For ever true to friends of former days:Returning health seem'd lighting up his eye,And rais'd his drooping friends to transient joy;When, in behalf of injur'd Afric's claim,To fair humanity he gave his name.'If this, the latest act from me requir'd,'The last is good,' he said, and—he expir'd.So set the Christian, so his glories rise,As summers suns descend in azure skies. THE THREE LAMPS; OR,THE HERMIT OF THE WOOD. OBEDIENT to th' omnipotent command,Nature confess'd its mighty former's hand;First smiling vegetation gaily rose,Since, o'er the earth, unconscious beauty glows;And from that heavenly spark that spread his sway,Was kindled animation's vital ray.By fine degrees extending still the plan,To godlike reason, and imperial man,Highly endow'd, the sov'reign of the whole,Nor him the swift escape, nor strong control.O'er earth he sits on an unquestion'd throne,A tributary here to God alone;Nor are his views alone to earth confin'd,To higher views are needful aids assign'd.Meanly content or arrogantly bold,Then let not man his faith and hope withhold.Let faith and hope imperfect virtue aid,And finite—own what infinite has said.Come dress me fiction for the ear of youth,Some tale that shall impress the sacred truth. In days remote, and in a distant clime,The place and date unchronicled by time;Alcestes lived, the wonder of his age,His country loved and prided in the sage;All bounteous heaven enrich'd his copious store,With kind affections, and persuasion's pow'r,If earth too strongly once had drawn his mind,One early trial earth‐born cares refin'd;Sudden he lost, in pride of blooming years,The lovely partner of his joys and cares.His patient tears were sown with future praise,And quench'd the sanguine hopes of following days;He mark'd the good and ill as equal given,A guide thro' time and death, to life and heaven;And on a mind so temper'd, heaven bestow'd,Its needful aids to keep his heavenly road;Then who so fit the traveller to convey,And guide the inexperienc'd in their way. Philario's sons his anxious cares divide,For them were fortune, cares, and pray'rs employ'd.Love still more fearful, as it more endears,Gave him the anxious joys of hopes and fears;He oft their virtues and their faults would try,And scan them with a parent's watchful eye;As heirs of heav'n, his sons he fondly view'd,Nor his low aim confin'd to earthly good;Early exalting his unclouded powers,His oldest son to learning gave his hours;By philosophic virtue firmly arm'd,By moral beauty was Eugenio charm'd;Unaided by high hopes or coward fear,All for itself to him was virtue dear;Worthy the scale he held in nature's plan,Approv'd by reason, and becoming man.As toys or bugbears, children please or fright,Rewards and punishments were motives light,Hence in Philario's breast foreboding fears,Hence self‐dependent virtue, drew his tears. The loves and graces smil'd on Philo's morn,And all the charities his soul adorn;From generous feelings, Philo's actions move,And all his God was form'd of peace and love;He joy'd to hope rewards for virtue given,But thought no stern decree could flow from heaven;His gentle nature, stranger to offence,Treated the vicious with benevolence;He said for misery God no being gave,And e'en the guilty, mercy meant to save;With joy his father view'd his virtues mild,Yet would he mourn one error of his child,That thro' his actions tho' they sweetly shone,Those virtues sat on an unguarded throne. The fair perfections which his brother own'd,With admiration soon Ascanius found;Candid, his less attainments soon could see,But those he guarded by humility;His knowledge would by patient labour earn,Nor ever deem'd himself too wise to learn;The dread of pain and prospect of reward,His heart accepted, as its firmest guard. Such were the sons who won each tender part,Each anxious feeling of Philario's heart,His happiest hours were with their virtues shar'd,Nor tender lessons to their faults he spar'd;But habits ever strengthen in their course,And lessons oft repeated lose their force;That truth might be with novelty convey'd,The careful father sought for foreign aid;His searches met the sages high renown,For wisdom and for virtue fully known;To him Philario sought his doubts to paint,And pour'd his soul in many a fond complaint;Pity he said, and hear me reverend sage,So heaven support thee in declining age;Thy counsels to my need then straight display,And aid me, far as human wisdom may;Thy deeds are wisdom, and thy trust is God,Then who so fit to mark a dubious road;Three virtuous sons I have, my age's pride,To fame on earth, and to heaven's hopes allied;Oh! may their virtues ne'er their hearts forsake,Nor those high hopes be lost by sad mistake,As fares the mariners who near the shore,Trust the false calm and count the dangers o'er,When sad reverse, he thoughtless meets between,The sudden tempest, and the rock unseen,All unprovided with the means to save,For home and safety he must meet a grave.The means are heaven's, Alcestes gently said,By my success be confidence repaid;To morrow, e'er the orb serene of night,Gives her chaste beam for Sol's departed light;Let me receive thy treasures to my care,The closing day I ever end with prayer;As to high heaven events are only known,So sanctified be mortal works begun. Philario leaves the sage with thanks exprest,And lighten'd were the cares that weigh'd his breast;The sage's message to his sons he broke,And highly of his worth and wisdom spoke.The youths with fond attention catch the strain,And chide the hours that yet their steps detain.Eugenio's fancy, in Alcestes finds,Those equal pow'rs that charm in kindred minds,Thinks how the depths of science they'll explore,And to exalted heights of knowledge soar;Or how they shall define th' unerring plan,Which honour draws for rectitude in man.Fix virtue in her independent sphere,Unaided by reward or abject fear;With warm impatience Philo's bosom glows,To such a friend his feelings to disclose;Revolves the joy that sympathy imparts,When generous feelings bind congenial hearts;And while such sympathies their hearts expand,They shall not, marking mercy's sparing hand,Deem punishment annex'd to man's offence,But clasp the scheme of wide benevolence. Ascanius hopes to hear by him defin'd,Heaven's mercy with its justice how combin'd;Those high rewards that meet the happy saint,The joys of heaven, he longs to hear him paint;Potent, the strong temptation to defeat,Speak the dire scenes th' impenitent await;Each thinks Alcestes as himself believes,And thus the intermediate time deceives. 'Twas when the virgin yields her brilliant sway,And temper'd seasons smile in equal day,Philario's sons, by youthful ardor bent,To greet Alcestes' mansion joyful went.In youth's gay season, when few cares annoy,Alive to present and to future joy,Imagination aids each scene to warm,And paints each beauty with a heighten'd charm;More gay to them, reviving spring is seen,More fresh, the verdure of its tender green;More richly wafts the fragrance of the air,Unclouded dawns the promise of their year,More sweet, the season crown'd with Flora's rose.Where ripen'd beauty summer's suns disclose;Where splendor, fragrance, and soft harmony,Meet health's full sense and fancy's vivid eye; So, to the youths now more majestic shone,Illustrious autumn, on her golden throne,Queen of the year, they see her now display,The gifts which tributary seasons pay;The blushing orchard, and the waving corn,Beneath her painted skies her reign adorn;Nor lost to them, her colours now expand,As her rich tints display her changing hand.Thus pleas'd they leave their parent and their home,And now most pleas'd they see Alcestes' dome.Midway, adown a mountain's woody side,The mansion rose in venerable pride;Midst rocks and groves it rose in stately show,And seem'd the sovereign of the vale below;Where the gay scenes that struck the wond'ring eye,Seem'd empires of each rural deity;Her golden banners Ceres there display'd,And Flora's lovely children paint the mead;Pomona o'er the hedgerow spreads her blush,And with rich purple decks the lowly bush;Amidst tall firs, and solemn‐seeming yew,The village church, there steals upon the view;As just emerging from surrounding shade,It gives a decent order to the glade.Hills rise on hills, to lead th' extended eye,Till with its kindred blue, they mix in sky.Its streams collecting, gathering still new force,Between, a river takes its rapid course;A careful debtor, and a subject free,Hast'ning its willing waters to the sea.From scenes like these their soften'd hearts imbibe,What most have felt, but few can well describe. Alcestes now advances to their view,Whom the appointed time to meet them drew;Serene as eve, as autumn rich to bless,He seem'd the genius of his native place;With hasten'd step, Philario's sons he meets,And thus in accents mild their coming greets,Welcome young friends, your presence pleases more,As thus observant of an old man's hour,For faith and truth Philario's sons be known,Tho' youth to folly and neglect is prone,Our course of friendship shall be safely trod,Hope marks the end, when we begin with God;From dignity serene, and mild benevolence,These words mix awe with gentle confidence.He leads them thro' the winding of the wood,To where the chapel of the mansion stood,In decent order all the household there,Attend the blessing of their master's pray'r,And there th' observance of the world they shun,Thus ev'ry day was closed, and morn begun;No warm disputes, or lectures oft as vain,Employ the hours of eve that yet remain,But thro' the harmless jest, or story's course,Instruction lost its name, but took its force.Philario's sons with admiration fraught,An humbler notion of themselves are taught,Their recollected vanity regret,And view their wisdom as a counterfeit;Their hearts, late nature's lovely scenes expand,And now they own a master's skilful hand;Freeing from blind opinion to receive,Th' important lesson which he wish'd to give;Dressing his purpose in a pleasing view,Which they as entertainment only knew;Long as delightless, linger joyless years,Swift fly th' aspiring moments friendship shares;As high in wisdom and refin'd in taste,All seem'd a wonder that the sage possest;Nor aught escaped them as they took their way,Passing along to where their chambers lay.And now, as still prepared for new delight,A gallery stored with pictures struck their sight,There many a sage and patriot appear'd,Who blest in life, and were in death rever'd,Not those whose dubious worth high fortune crown'd,But whom unquestion'd merit had renown'd;Amongst the many which they wond'ring saw,Three more than all their fix'd attention draw,The painter's zeal his magic hand obey'd,And almost life and breath his forms display'd,One narrow path to a bright mansion led,Along the landscape, o'er the canvass spread;Three figures pass it with a different fate,And draw our admiration and regret;While one with steady eye surveys the ground,Keeps firm the path, and is with honour crown'd,The others leave it, and with wand'ring feet,Tho' they approach to bliss, destruction meet;These pictures long their curious eyes detain,And much they wish their meaning to explain,Why the same landscape o'er the three are spread,And whence the different figures there display'd;At early matins they with joy attend,And anxious wait the coming of their friend,Hearts open to his counsels they prepare,And join him in devotion's ardent prayer;The cow bestows them her salubrious treat,And bread and fruits their wholesome meal compleat,Enraptur'd of the pictures now they speak,And for their meaning to Alcestes seek;Oh deign, they said, the mystery to relate,And why those figures meet such different fate;Then to the gallery straight their host they lead,And point the pieces which they wish to read;Alcestes view'd them with a wishful eye,And ere he spoke, he heav'd a feeling sigh;'Tis there, he said, enraptured with the theme,The painter gives to sight the poet's dream,For him entwines a never fading wreath,And almost bids his airy phantoms breathe;Nor to the painter give we all the praise,But now attend to what the legend says;This said, a scroll of parchment next he shews,And thus proceeds its legend to disclose; The longest day in night must die,And winter ends the year:And so to contemplation's eye,Must human life appear. Herman had fourscore winters past,His latest thread was spun:Of many days he liv'd his last,And view'd life's setting sun. Yet ere his spirit took its leaveOf all it valued here;One fond embrace he fain would give,And bless his children dear. His children dear approach his couch;My sons he faintly said,My heart still rests where I've lov'd much,And shrinks from death with dread. The parting stroke, were death no strife,'Tis agony to bear;From those who gave it's joy to life,And ev'ry pleasing care. Yet, ere my latest sand is shed,And while a breath I draw,May filial duty, from this bed,Retain a father's law. No well fill'd coffers you'll receive,Or aught of wealth or cost,But ah! a mansion I would give,Which distant realms can boast. And sure it was my anxious care,To fit you for the road;And while I warn'd the danger there,The high reward I shew'd. As thro' the wilderness no moreA pilot to your youth,Be dying words, my living pow'r,And your support, your truth. And now they clasp his clammy hands,Bathe them with many a tear,And vow, his ever lov'd commandsAre more than life's blood dear. 'Tis well he said, the pow'r is good,Who grants me strength to say,The holy hermit of the wood,Shall best direct your way. Thus Herman breath'd his last adieu,Low in the dust he lies;And pious prayers and honours due,Before his ashes rise. His children dear, with honours meet,Have mourn'd the pious dead;And next the sainted sage they greet,Who bless'd the solemn shade. Hail holy hermit! oft they cry,Thy suppliants are we,And meek they raise th' imploring eye,And low they bend the knee. Oh! mark us out the safest wayTo a bright mansion given;For well thou canst, that saint did say,Whose spirit rests in heaven. With pious hands his mortal part,Beneath the green sward laid,And with the mourning of the heart,His funeral honours paid. His dying and his strict command,'Tis thus we have pursu'd;When we implore thy guiding hand,Oh hermit of the wood! The hermit rais'd them from the ground,And cheering was his look;Compassion in his face they found,And in the words he spoke. For well of all the hermit knew,In past nor future scant,To holy men, 'twas held as true,Heaven did such knowledge grant.Far as my faithful word may guide,The holy hermit said,My counsel shall not be denied,To those who seek my aid. He took them to his simple cell,Of fare he gave his best:Bright water from the purest well,And fruits of dainty taste. And then around each neck he threw,A chain of purest gold;Which, to each breast a lock so true,In forms of anchors hold. Tho' small in size, of countless worth,Three lamps the chain suspend,And thus the hermit well set forth,Their value and their end. Sons of my friend! I hold you dear,Accept these gifts of love:These answers to your prayers appear,And your true guides shall prove. And now he takes them to the grove,And shews the prospect round:And points out with parental love,Where the safe path is found. Beyond he says your country lies,Nor rest in aught beneath;That narrow path commands the prize,Which Herman did bequeath. Tho' narrow, and too little trod,These lamps shall guide your feet,Be your conductors thro' the road,And find yon blest retreat. They were not wrought by mortal hand,Observe and mark them well,These lights two different views command,To lead and to repel. By each your way be ever known,Tho' some might seem more fair.Thro' this is the bright region shewn,That crowns your course of care. The last from specious snares shall warn,Still potent to disclose;Altho' some transient charm adorns,The depth of hidden woes. I mark impatience in each eye,Thus youth is wont to be;Still ardent unknown scenes to try,Ere they their dangers see. Yet for a moment I detain,And further counsel hold;Whate'er I gave and said were vain,If aught remain'd untold. While mindful of their destin'd use,Their owners these employ;As them no mortal could produce,No mortal can destroy. But with such sacred art combin'd,And so united glows,That one neglected still you'll find,Shades o'er the other throws. Well, Herman's sons observe my words,So speed you in your course,And may the counsel you've implor'd,Be your secure resource. And much he grieved their thoughtless haste,Which scant their thanks could spare;And fear'd those counsels must be waste,Which scarce to hear they bear. Till sight could them no more disclose,The Hermit's eyes pursued;Then care to sooth, with calm repose,He sought his native wood. Together yet their pilgrim feet,The bidden path pursue;Observe the bonds for kindred meet,And to their faith keep true. And bitterly I trust was rued,That pride which first begun,Pernicious counsels to intrude,In Herman's oldest son. This present from our friend, he says,Was made with kind design;But as I cannot need its aid,I think but light of mine. To some it were a potent spell;The weak are prone to err,And ignorance, I know it well,Is moved by hope and fear. Then this he said, and touch'd the spring,To others may have use,To me, a poor and trifling thing,My path, I know and chuse. And potent were those words to lose,The talisman that bound,The sacred charm around his neck,That shew'd his safest ground. Ah! charm no more, the anchor fails,The links desert the chain;The lamp a lasting darkness veils,Nor fear or hope remain. In conscious virtue all elate,His wisdom was his pride,He parts, as from a vain conceit,With an unerring guide. He yet a while the path pursues,Tho' some appear more fair;Some dangers too, he well subdues,Which he encounters there. Such snares and dangers yet he tried,As haughty minds can scorn,But those which are to pride allied,It ever ill has born. As o'er the youth his gentle nature yearns,To the first painting then Alcestes turns;Observe he said, in Herman's oldest hope,High thoughts of self, which ill to counsel stoop,He views the country with familiar air,As if he deem'd a guide superfluous there:Yet there is something noble in his mein,The traits of honour, and a soul within;But much I fear the legend will disclose,That airy honour meets with potent foes:Foes, which his lamp had sov'reign power to check,But that you see is falling from his neck;Sovereign by shewing to the traveller's eye,The high reward of glorious victory;Shewing the scenes that fallen virtue wait,A sovereign warning from its dreadful fate:Dark is the guide and dubious is the way,Its end, you see no glorious prize display;Its dangerous wanderings, there inspire no dread,No gulphs of fire are seen, or horrors spread;But now the legend will those scenes relate,Which self‐exalted virtue mourns too late: For now, adapted to his mind,See lofty hills invite;He leaves the humbe vale behind,To climb the envied height. Vainly affection prompts his stay,With brethren once so dear;Vainly they point the safer way,The bliss or danger near. The apt temptation, strong of power,A weak defence o'erthrows;As broken bulwarks guard the shore,When mighty seas oppose. And now the giddy height he gain'd,Nor thought of gulphs below:But ill the slippery path sustain'd,Along the mountain's brow. Alass, he dreamt of solid bliss,And straight was seen no more:'Twas fear'd he found a dread abyss.A deep without a shore. Now to the painting, see him gain'd the height,And how his looks express his vast delight:No air more suited, could ambition breathe,But quite conceal'd the gulph which yawns beneath:The gulph which finishes his mad career,And on its brink you see him next appear;One foot upon the sloping surface see,The next, within the dread abyss must be:To save a mortal tongue the dreadful tale,See charity prepared to spread her veil;The motto there in golden letters read,Judge not of him, but shun the sinner's meed. The second painting now we should explain,And to the legend must return again: His rashness, oft his brothers mourn,And much they doubt his fate;How sad 'tis needful aid to scorn,They fear he found too late. Another's errors ever meetOur wonder and our blame;Nor think what may our peace defeat,And blast our virtuous name. 'Twas ill the second brother said,The hermit's gift to slight;To me he added, 'tis a prize,View'd by the pleasing light. The other was to me no store,So perish'd by neglect;To use it was to keep its pow'r,So did the sage direct. Ill‐fated youth! so said the sage,And further said most true;One clouded, did he well presage,Would shade the other view. Distant and faint those prospects rise,Which glory would disclose;And darkness only meets the eyes,Where terrors should oppose. But yet, a while he safely treads,Charm'd by a distant good; Nor yet ambition's glare misleads,Dangers or toils subdued. But ah! yon flattering scene beware,Yon way so like the true;That pleasure's near enticing snareCheat not the distant view. Whether that road may guide as near,He said I soon shall learn;If wrong, when there it shall appear,'Tis easy to return. Misguided youth! thy hopes are vain,Thy rash resolve I grieve;For never more shalt thou regain,What thoughtless thou shalt leave. All vain a brother's tears may flow,He thinks it causeless grief;His lamp reveal'd him nought of woe,Nor counsel gain'd belief. Dread pits, which sedgy verdure o'erHad speciously conceal'd;As now the traveller's feet explore,Are fatally reveal'd. Careless of warning, perish'd he,Who came so near the prize;Then whilst we pity, let us beBy sad example wise. And now my youthful friends, Alcestes cries,To the next painting I would lead your eyes;The dullest eye may note the temper here,Benevolence was never mark'd more clear;This figure, now his lamp delighted tries,As if he saw some pleasing prospect rise:What pity that a mind so form'd for bliss,Our legend says, that happiness could miss;Now be his lamp the object of your sight,His hand, observe it, covers o'er one light;As if some view he dreaded to receive,But nought unneedful would the Hermit give;If mercy and reward were all his view,He found temptations that could those subdue:Alcestes view'd them with a moment's pause,And to the legend their attention draws: And now of Herman's sons so lov'd,The youngest but remain'd:All that obedient to him prov'd,Or the bright mansion gain'd. And well he might obtain the prize,Who mark'd his guide with care;And saw the blissful prospect rise, And saw the dreadful snare. And now my friends, Alcestes says once more, The paintings let us yet again explore:One figure still perhaps is unobserv'd,And pleasing hope for that we have reserv'd;The whole expression of this face you see,Is soften'd by a sweet humility;And here the painter, master of his art,Displays the very movements of his heart.Revered Alphonso! here thy love is seen,For me thy pencil traced this moral scene;To these he fixed my mind with early care,And bid me place my guardian safety there;There, warnings to my youth, these scenes have brought,There, lessons to the young my age has taught. Observe this lamp with both its lights display'd,With care you see this figure seems to tread;In every winding dreadful gulphs are seen,The onward path leads to yon glorious scene. Enough our honour'd friend! the brothers cry,Thy generous purpose we can well apply;The glowing tints speak from that striking scene,A lesson that shall point thy wish within;Strong but in weakness, in our strength most weak,Our conscious weakness, now these aids would seek;More diffident our course of virtue run,And chuse the lamp of Herman's youngest son. TO DELIA. FADE thy leaves thou beauteous rose,In those sweet scenes which thee disclose?And droops thy head thou lily fair,Declining in the balmy air? Then take your beauty's transient power,Ye pageants of a summer's hour:And if there be yet aught more frail,Give it to the passing gale. Can brilliant gems, can glittering ore,My Delia's health or peace restore?Thy treasures back, oh earth! receive,Or blindly still let fortune give. How weak the pride of grandeur's sway!Since all are born of equal clay;Vainly alike we place our trust,In noble or in servile dust. Think not my Delia beauty's charm,Could guard thy growing years from harm,Or teach misfortune's pensive brow,With conscious dignity to glow. Be mental worth my Delia's care,Unfading charm! divinely fair!Oh may its spell with potent ray,Thro' youth and age direct thy way. And take, oh take! th' instructive page,Which wisdom gives for every age;So shall thy richly polish'd mind,Collect its treasures unconfin'd. My Delia! see for noble blood,Thy words be gentle, actions good:Let all thy thoughts exalted be,And virtue thy nobility. Then at devotion's hallow'd shrine,Give every grace a seal divine;For prayers and deeds united rise,To Heaven the richest sacrifice. If prosperous scenes shall thee surround,These be thy valued treasures found;While fair humility shall reign,A guardian o'er the heavenly train. But, if thy tide of joys run low,And friends with happier day should go,Still mistress o'er thyself be seen,And let thy virtues hail thee queen! ONTHE BIRTH DAYOFTHREE YOUNG LADIES. O'ER times and seasons, days and years,The muses keep a watchful eye,Deceive the conq'ring hand of time,And what they love forbid to die. The sage may say your blooming cheek,Shall with its sister roses fade: Your sparkling eye it's lustre lose,And future years it's beauties shade. Your wit, that now with potent charm,Invites our hearts to frolic mirth,Sink blunted by the edge of time,And lose the fire which gave it birth. Let sacred friendship still inspire,Still shall they flourish in my song,Eliza's cheek shall always bloom,And Helen's fire burn ever strong. Still shall the Muses hail the day,Which to their aid the graces sent,For uncouth were the rugged rhyme,If they no genial polish lent. Propitious fortune! smile this day,And hear the friend and poet's prayer,Be these, thro' every scene of life,The darling objects of thy care. And may this welcome day's return,With thy best favors still be crown'd,And ever shining with the rest,Be rosy health and virtue found. SONNET. NOW dark December's gloom is gone,Then go with it corroding care;With festive mirth and jocund song,To hail the rising year prepare. Let beauty wear its gayest robe,While wit exerts its brightest powers,Let all within your breast be May,And peace and joy shall lead your hours. Tho' wint'ry storms may still descend,And snow may whiten o'er the ground,Yet hope presents yon smiling spring,And rising beauty blooms around. See from the zephyr's balmy wing,Propitious health her roses shed,To meet her in the morning breeze,Shall tempt you from your drowsy bed. Now dark December's gloom is gone,And go with it corroding care;With festive mirth and jocund song,To hail the rising year prepare. SONNET. HOW blest the hours! when Celia's voice,Would calm my anxious cares to rest,Could make my drooping heart rejoice,And kindle hope within my breast.Ah! hours alas, for ever flown,Ah! scenes enjoy'd no more,Yet say, has wealth aught happier known,Or found a richer store. Ah! hours where bright content was seen,Unclouded sunshine of the mind!Where friendship left no void within,Nor own'd a thought it wish'd confin'd.The eye there beam'd its joy around,The tongue was love and truth,And there was frolic humour found,And fancy, child of youth. SONNET. THE peaceful joys which virtue gives,She gives without allay, Hoped, recollected, or enjoy'd,They gild life's brightest day. Ye peaceful shades! ye flowery lawns!Ye streams which murmur by!'Tis innocence which makes your charmsSo grateful to the eye. And ye, who trace the the blue expanse,Or sport upon the green,Sweet sympathy attracts my mind,With you to taste the scene. Then piety and friendship pure,And soft benevolence,Improve to me whate'er of good,Kind Heaven shall here dispense. SONNET. BUT now—and hope to fancy's eyeHer blooming garlands spread,And opening to my eager sight,Their vivid tints display'd;But ah! deceitful and unkind,She gives them to an adverse wind,Nor heeds a suppliant's grief;From thee alas! capricious power,Vainly would sorrow pluck a flower,Or picture a relief. Reason perhaps, with looks severe,Shall make me this reply,Thy passions are those adverse storms,That wait thy victory.Subdue the thoughts which folly share,Subsided lie each anxious care,And when thy work is done,Contented with an humble lot,Lie down, forgetting and forgot,Beneath some simple stone. TO ELIZA S——. THE weary traveller tired with roaming,Homeward turns his willing feet,Kindest, friendliest counsel giving,If a stranger he should meet. Heaven speed thy journey gentle stranger,Thine's a road which I have gone,Think not my friendship too presuming,If its dangers I make known. A pleasant hill now lies before thee,Mind to keep the middle way,Danger in pleasing forms shall 'tice thee, Lure thee from thy path to stray. But a faithful guide attending,Thou'lt discern each specious foe,And her unerring glass presenting,Shews they lead to lasting woe. Vainly may pleasure seek to tempt thee,Tho' with flowers her path be spread,Thy guide can see her vot'ries hasting,To the mansions of the dead. Some, you'll observe intemperance leading,To her bowers of cloying sweets,But from behind yon ghastly figures,Drag them to their fell retreats. Her crowns of poppies ease may offer,On down intreat thee to repose;But in th' inglorious lake oblivion,All her votaries she throws. There too sink those led by folly,And dissipation's giddy train,Nor those whom vanity is leading,Can her empty gifts retain. As towards the summit thou'rt ascending,Other foes shall thee surround,Be sure to keep a steady footing,It is all enchanted ground. To her high lands ambition tempts thee,Shews thee grandeur's envied state:Believe it all a fair delusion.Wretched are her followers fate. Some she leads o'er seas tempestuous,Sink beneath the foaming waves,Others, from dreadful heights she plunges,Find below untimely graves. From all these foes thy guide shall save thee,Pleasant may'st thou find the road,Innocence thy fair attendant,To bright wisdom's blest abode. Prosperous be thy journey, stranger,Thine's a road I well have known;Nor think my friendship too presuming,If its dangers I have shewn. TO ———. TILL life shall cease t' inform this mould'ring clay,The soft affections round my heart will play;Still must I feel, fo