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ERE I to walk till eventide
Around the park,” says Ned, “ I still thou'd see yon son of pride,
With high-erected head.
“ It irksome,” drawls the wight, « No, no: for, troth it cannot sink,
The air is not so light.”
By children callid a kite,
Poiz'd in its tow'ring height.
ODE TO MUSIC.
TAIL! heavenly maid, my pensive mind
Invokes thy woe-fubduing strain, For there a Thield my soul can find,
Which subjugates each dagger'd pain. When beauty spurns the lover's sighs,
'Tis thine soft pity to inspire,
Beneath thy myrtle-vested lyre.
He'd drop, and own thy pow'r:
Tu crown the feftal hour.
SONNET TO NIGHT.
LOVE not thee, O! Night, when Ihiv’ring gales
Roar midst the foliage of the forest wide,
INVOCATION TO PEACE,
AN IRREGULAR ODE.
YOME, blooming seraph ! dove-like Peace!
Again revisit this our sea-girt shore,
To shake his tawny mane, and fiercely roar.-
Dost thou now delight to dwell?
Long since Britannia hath thy loss bewail'd,
And carnage dire and misery prevail'd.-
Have made the foldier's heart with valour glow,
To pour destruction on the presling foe.
Do thou, sweet Peace ! these scenes dispel,
Here, goddess ! ever deign to dwell,
Here thy sacred olive rear
So shall the arts and sciences increase,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
In rhyming measure sang of luckless love, When debonnair I trod the meads along,
Nor musing fought the “ high o'er arching grove :" Then, eie the sun began his circling race,
I topp'd the hills t’inhale the “ breath of morn," Survey'd enraptured nature's verdant face,
Or tir’d, repos'd beneath the flow'ring thorn. At noon I join’d the merry jocund train
Of youths, whose hearts no turpitude annoy'd; Whose bosoms felt no agonizing pain,
From health impair’d, or innocence decoy'd. Then evening led me to yon antique hall,*
Where science nursd my young compeers to fame, Taught them to follow fair ambition's call, And hun the paths of infamy and shame.
* Beaumont Hall, near Redbourn, Herts.
Intent t' improve, and sed’lous to know,
I there revolv'd the tomes of useful lore, Nor saw remote those tides of varied woe,
Which TIME devolves from his exhaustless store, 1 fancied then, and fancy loves to sooth!
That when to man's " full zenith” I'd attain'd, Life's transient hours would glide serenely smooth,
And bounties crown my moments unrestrain’d. But fancy's fled-her colours are destroy’d,
Her smiles seductive now no more appear; Ingulph'd in dark oblivion's “ formless void,”
Like ietting suns they're gone--10 more my fight to cheer.
TOUR hours have fied since like a fiery orb
In fplendour lurid fank the lamp of day,
Threc annual suns have roll'd,
Eleanor's mind! what secret terrors
But the tidings
From morning's Dawn till night with murky veil enwraps the Ocean wide, does Eleanor watch Each coming fail, and in expectance fighs. Lait eve retiring, scarce on the pillow Had The thrown her, when, scar'd hy the fleeting Vision of the night the 'woke, and o'er her Heard the stormy wild uproar-Up the spiang—and soon to yon rock, which O’er the troublous deep impends, the flies, and Thro' the mists of moody night, assisted By the lightnings glare, behold yon shatter'd Vefsel driven by the furious storm, To fure destruction on yon pointed Crags-Hark! that thriek distress’d! she strikes ! she splits! And to the waves the wretched sailor AlingsBehold, on the boiling billows borne, a Youth, who with nervous arm 'gainst death contend; Eleanor sees him-Oh! 'tis Edward ! At what a fatal hour to meet-See, from The pendent rock the plunges in the deep, And clasps her Edward in the hour of death. In chaste embrace they ’mid the waves go down! Angels of bliss, their spotless spirits bear To where life's troublous storms are felt no more.
JOSEPHUS. Lynn, June 4, 1798.