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On Wednesday she sicken'd, I griev'd and was fad,

To nurse her, in vain I essay'd;
For still she grew worse, and on Sunday so bad,

For her death I most ardently pray'd.

Death came to her aid, and her breath she icsign'd,

And left me her aid to deplore;
For oh! she was beautisul, gentle, and kind,

But now I must fee her no more.

At the eqd of the garden we made her a grave,

And with lilacs entwin'd it around;
Where, free from all trouble and grief she is laid,

And resteth within the cold ground.

C. B.


IMMORTAL Gods, my prayers befriend,
And to a suppliant maid attend;
Let not my days pass calm and still,
But chequer them with good and ill;
And let my lise for ever be,
A mixture of variety;
For when misfortune well I know,
I then shall feel for others' woe.
Join'd to courage, knowledge, truth,
Let honest virtue crown my youth;
Give me that pride which will be free,
And scorns to crouch to tyranny;
My cheek ne'er know the blush os shame,
And add to this a weil-earn'd fame I
Oh! grant, ye gods, it be my lot,
That when I'm dead I'm not forgot;
My sirst great wish is glorious fame!
Let suture ages know my name!
To crown the whole, ye gods above!
Let me not know what 'Hi to love!


"E pamper'd great, who proudly ride
In gilded coaches, as ye glide
Among the vulgar crew;
Scorn not the man who tills the sields,
Who reaps the fruits which autumn yields,
-That man's as good as you. • ,

Tho' fortune adverse, for his home
Has rais'd in state no splendid dome,

Nor spread upon his board
Delicious dainties—-and his name,
Unblazon'd in the rolls of fame,

Is still among the crowd;

Yet calm content around his, head,
Will still her genial influence shed,

He envies not your lots.
When day declining, night returns,

And on his hearth one faggot burns,

He hastens to his cot.

His infants, sportive round the sire,
In lisping accents greet their sire,

(While each alike's his care);
With wanton gamb'lings strive to please,
And eager climb his honour'd knees,

The envied kiss to Ihare:

The greeting o'er—to rest he goes,
Ambition breaks not his repose,

Nor robs his foul of rest;
For envy, hate, corroding care,
The dire efsects of fell despair,

Are strangers to his breast.

Can all your wealth—-can all your pow'r,
Those glitt'ring playthings of an hour,

Bring happiness like this?
Can pompous titles and estates,
The fleeting gists os blinded fates,

Be reckon'd equal bliss?

No! hence ye vain delusive toys,
Ye poor, fantastie, short-liv'd joys,

Give me a conscience pure;
Give me a mind content, serene,
No cloud of guilt to intervene,

My joys will still endure.




THE little warblers of the spring
Their sweet melodious accents raise;
They make the hills and dales to ring,
In warbling out their Maker's praise.

The black-bird, wood-lark, and the thrush,

Unite with those of feebler voice; Whose chaunts resound from bush to bush,

To rouse all nature to rejoice;

Whilst nature seems to hear the found,

Flowers, herbs, shrubs, trees, put forth their heads; To ask what have you> warblers, sound

To make you sing; is winter fled?

"Sweet yes," the nightingale replies;

"For I'm the harbinger of spring; "And to consirm the fame," she cries,

"Hark! don't you hear yon cuckoo sing?"

Oh, joysul found' with one accord

They all embrace their welcome guest;
Creation, and its earthly lord,
With second paradise are blest.
Riiclingi, Kent." JOHN TRANCIS.



'IDE o'er the farther west the trembling beam Sheds on departing day its latent gleam; Now flow and solemn, silver clad on high, The young moon lifts her crescent in the sky; Around her orb how soft a radiance glows, And O 1 how sweet the soothing prospect shows. Ah 1 'tis a sacred hour, a stilly scene, And more than silence rules the wide serene; A mighty grandeur lifts my soaring thought, With all the muses' inspiration fraught i' Far in the world of fancy led, I rove, My glowing sentiments new charms improve. I wish beyond the nether world to soar, I wish the source of being to explore; Fain would I fly from orient east to west, Where earth on boundless ocean leans her breastDive into chaos, reach that stern abode, Where, clad in terror, rules the gloomy god; Thence, borne on rapid wing, direct my flight, And view the shrines of uncreated light. Such are the themes that ev'ning's charms infuse, And such the esfort of my artless muse.




We all da fade as a leaf.

EE the leaves around us falling, Dry and wither'd to the ground; Thus, to thoughtless mortals calling, With a fad and solemn sound:

"Sons of Adam, once in Eden,

"Blighted when like us you felt; "Hear the lecture we are reading,

"'Tis, alas! the truth we tell.

*' Virgins! much, loo much presuming,

** In your boasted white and red; (i View us late in beauty blooming,

"Number'd now among the dead.

** Griping misers! nightly waking,

** See the end of all your care; ** Fled on wings of our own making,

"We have less our owners bare.

"Sons of honour! fed on praises,

"Flutt'ring high on fancied woith; "Lo! the sickle air that raises,

"Brings us down to parent earth.

"LearnedfopJis! in systems jaded,

"Who fur new ones daily call; "Cease, at length by us persuaded,

"Every leaf must have a fall.

"Youths! though yet no losses grieve you,

"Gay in health and manly grace; "Let not cloudless Ikies deceive you,

"Summer gives to autumn place.^

'* Venerable Sires! grown hoary,

"Hither turn th' unwilling eye i. "Think amidst your falling glory,

** Autumn tells a winter nigh.

"Yearly in our course returning,,

"Messengers of shortest stay, "Thus we preach this truth unerring,

"Heaven and earth shall pass away!

ti On the Tree of life eternal)

"Man! let all thy hopes be staid; ** Which alone, for ever vernal, . t' Sears a leaf whisk ne'erjkattfade.'*

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