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It dawns; but as along the sky it goes,
Clouds cross, by fits; and tempests interpose.
A little while the genial beams impart
A glow of hope and boldness to my heart;
How soon to sink again! The magic spell
Scarce lingers, while its kind approach I tell.

If thus a victim to Misfortune's snares,
Prey to Disease, or to consuming Cares,
I yet can seize the lyre, and court the Muse,
And transient comfort o'er this breast diffuse;
If yet my soul pours forth the moral lay,
And seeks with mental flowers to deck the day:
Dear Fount of purest waves, if where, a boy,
I drank with awful and mysterious joy,
I struggle still, or waking, or in dream,
To cool my thirst with thy immortal stream;
May the small gift that now at Virtue's shrine
Humbly I lay, receive a smile benign!

If not to this the brilliant hues belong, That decorate an happier son of Song, Breath'd from the heart; in age, as once in youth, O stamp it with the holier praise of Truth!

Lee Priory, Sept. 12, 1815.


N E indulgent, Reader, to this first Spe

cimen of the Productions of a private

Press, with which my love for Literature has impelled me to amuse myself. Three more Parts, sufficient to make together two Volumes, are proposed to be given at intervals, as inclination, joined with leisure, prompts my pen. Meantime, the LEE PRIORY Press will be principally employed in furnishing the Literary Collectors with Reprints of some of the curious Tracts of former days, in which there shall be an attempt to add beauty of Typography and Wood-engraving, to the interest of the matter selected from the rarities of the Black Letter Stores.



Lee Priory, Sept. 30, 1818.

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