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Some snug recess impervious; shouldst thou try
I well remember, when a child, the awe
my dear grandmother, eldest of forms,
At intervals, my mother's voice was heard,
Then would I sit me down, and ponder much
The floating bubbles, little dreaming then
To fee, Mongolfier, thy filken ball
TO A WRETCH
SHIVERING IN THE STREET.
"HY plaintive voice, so eloquent and meek,
Haply of her, who knows no friend, the fate:
On life's bleak waste !-But thou, though desolate, Shait find no shelter! through her proud abode,
Grandeur, in Folly's fplendid robes, shall flaunt;
Riot his song of merriment shall chaunt:
Nor shall one friendly brother think on thee,
THE NATURAL SON.
BY THE REV. J. BIDLAKE.
HILDREN of Plenty, who the cheering rays
While love parental crowns your cloudless days,
Meets ev'ry wish, prevents each rising care; Ah! do not spurn misfortune's outcast child,
Who knows no shelter, finds no friendly door; A snow-drop, shatter'd in the dreary wild,
Nipt by the storm, with rain besprinkled o'er. On me no father bends his partial eyes,
No mother in her fostring arms protects; My daily wants no tenderness supplies,
My doubtful steps no precept now directs. Can they deserve the parent's sacred name,
Untrue to nature, and than brute less kind, Who dare to riot in a guilty flame,
Nor own the feelings of parental mind ? Beat not e'en savage breasts with pious love,
Do those forget a parent's tender care ? E'en brutal instinct soft affections prove;
The sweet sensations even reptiles share. Yet polish'd life, unblushing, dares disown
The first, the dearest feelings of the soul ; Falsely refin’d, and boldly shameless grown,
Spurns at all law, defies all soft controul.
Condemn'd to pine, forsook by fickle love,
Of sacred honour stripp'd, of conscious pride; Condemn’d ingratitude's sharp stings to prove,
Of broken heart, alas ! my mother dy'd. In vain, 'tis faid, I stretch'd my
infant arms, That alk'd to meet her fond, her warm embrace; In vain the dawning blush of orient charms
Sat smiling in the roles of my face.
No answ'ring smiles, no look could she repay;
Hangs o'er the infant bud, and fades away.
No friendship bleeds, no kindred breast, for me; No ties of dear relationship I own,
The wand'ring child of casual charity. Canst thou, who gav'st me birth, canst thou maintain,
In ostentatious pomp, yon menial crowd? O! could the refuse of that wanton train
To feed these familh'd lips but be allow'd ! There proudly tow'ring o'er the subje&t land,
By costly art bedeck’d, and lavish taste, Behold my father's sumptuous manfion stand,
The seat of riot, and licentious walle. In golden goblets laughs the luscious wine,
High viands fick’ning appetite invite; On fisken beds their lux’ry links supine,
And wantonness and cost their pow'rs unite. Each faithless friend the ready gate receives,
The cup of water cold where I implore; My familh'd appetite no scrap relieves,
To me and want alone is clos'd the door. Could I but lay this poor dejected head
Where e'en the fav’rite brute may shelter'd feed; Could I but find the straw my humble bed,
Half as the hound belov’d, or pamper'd feed. Yet he, with raptur’d eye, can fondly view
The offspring branch of wedded Avarice;
And is to me, alas! no pity due ?
Thus, guiltless, must I pay the tax of vice? Has bounteous nature been to me less kind ?
Less nicely bade my forming features grow? With true affe&tions less supply'd my mind?
What stain has God affix'd upon this brow?
No beast that to the secret covert hies,
And bids me hope for Mercy's large supplies.
sensations play; For oft, too oft, of beauty am I told,
By those who wish that beauty to betray. Hear then, ye sons of Pleasure, hear
tale, Who gaily wanton in variety; And think, like me, how, pierc'd by ev'ry gale,
Your offspring asks the mite of charity.
BY DR. HURDIS.
AN aught be more fair to the eye
Than the bluth of the maidenly year? Can aught with the orchard-bloom vie,
When in May its sweet blossoms appear? Can aught like the eglantine please,
Or the rose-budding ?_Tell me, what can?" O! thrice more attractive than these
Is the check of my sweet little Anne.
When it trickles transparently by ?
Than to look on the gems of the sky?
Which the zephyrs on goffamer fan?