« ПредишнаНапред »
Then, turning to the ministers of Fate,
Not Rome, untouch'd with sorrow, heard her fate;
BY MISS ROBERTS.
HE filent tear, that steals adown the cheek;
The heart-felt figh, thàt heaves and is suppress’d: These figns the anguish of the mind bespeak,
And shew the sorrow lab’ring in my breast.
At times, before my fad deluded eye
Some dancing gleams of fatt'ring hope appear; But soon the airy visions distant fly,
Those transient phantoms, chac'd by black Despair !
That gloomy tyrant now resumes his seat,
O'er my fad soul extends his racking sway; Obedient to his will my pulses beat,
And meet with rising grief each new-born day.
Fictitious smiles, that dimple o'er my face,
(Light covering of a heart with woe replete How oft the starting tears your charms deface !
And fighs, half smother'd, tell the vain deceit.
Oh! could my feeling foul, from earth refin'd,
Reach the bright manfions of eternal reft; To Heaven each fublunary with refign'd;
No more should passions swell this beating breast !
These eyes, from whence the briny streams have flow'd,
Oft for my own, and oft for others ill; Their stock exhausted, spent their wat'ry load,
Crumbled in duft, no more should tears diftill!
RO'S LINE CASTL E.
BY J. JOHNSTONE, ESQ.
T dead of night, the hour when courts
fantastick pleasures move; And haply Mira joins their sports,
And hears some newer, richer love:
To Rosline's ruins I repair,
A folitary wretch forlorn ;
My hapless love, her hapless fcorn.
No sound of joy disturbs my strain,
No hind is whistling on the hill ; No hunter winding o'er the plain,
No maiden singing at the rill.
Esk, murm’ring thro' the dusky pines,
Reflects the inoon's mift-mantled beam; And Fancy chills, where'er it shines, ,
To see pale ghosts obscurely gleam.