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And if amidst these realms of woe,
True bliss to man he giy’n,
That sublunary heav'n.
And more than earth supplies,
Of friends without disguise.
And hope for ever young,
In notes ætherial strung.
A frequent guest intrudo,
The haunts of solitude.
Far from your breast retire;
And quenchless is its fire.
On her own mis’ry bent ;
And meagre discontent.
Till latest life's decline,
And suns unclouded shine.
And in a mind so free,
Perhaps you'll think of me.
TO THE MEMORY OF
From yonder steeple sounds the solemn knell,
And what it now proclaims-the muse shall tell!
Laura so fair, so tender, and so true;
To seek that peace which here it never know
The matchless beauties of thy verse to sing : That soaring, mounted with Promethean fire,
Or gave fresh beauties to the blushing spring. Then would I censure the base world, so prone
To doubt thy heart, whose worth they could not know; That often mourn’d for sorrows not its own,
And wept, in secret wept, for other's woe! Ah, Laura ! it was thine to bid distress
Fly from the humble dwellings of the poor, To hear the lips of age thy bounty bless,
Which drove disease and famine froni thcir door.
Glow with the lustre of affectiun's rays;
And hear protected childhood lisp thy praise.
Those torturing ills, to adverse fate allied To groan with anguish, agonize with rear,
Or brave, with sensate heart, the sncer of pride Yet it was thine, sweet shade, one bliss to provc,
That only souls, like thine, can truly prize To see the iender tears of filial love,
Qbscure the lustre of thy Mary's eyes,
To hear the smother'd sigh, when pain oppress'd
Thy languid limbs, and warp'd the graceful form; To sooth with artless love thy tortur'd breast,
When faithless friendship rous'd the mental storm. And it was her's, with pure angelic powers,
When shuddering nature own'd no art could save, To bid religiou sooth the waning hours,
And cheer with hope the terrors of the grave! For thee, sweet maid! through life's still varying day,
May meek submission bid thy sorrows cease! "O'er thy quick pulses may reflection's ray,
With mildest radiance pour the balm of peace! While MEDITATION, sober-minded maid,
Impressive, bids thce view thy mother's doom; Ah! think, that beauty, grace, and wit must fade, ra And nought but virtue live beyoud the tomb!
LINES Written when my Infant was pronounced past Hopes of
Recovery. February 1801. A ND is there then no hope can nothing save A My suffering infant from an early grave? Is there no lenient balm-no drug of virtues rare, To give relief-and chace away despair? Alas! it cannot be what then is mine, But meek submission to the hand divine ! He yet may live, delusive hope, away, I can no more believe, nor thou betray; E’en now convulsive pains obstruct his breath, He shrieks in anguish-shrieks, the note of death: God of my life! Oh, hear a mother's prayer, Struggling with anguish, and oppress'd with care! Since hope is past, receive my suffering babe, And take, in pity take, the lise you gave; And call his spirit to that happy shore, Where pain shall cease, and death destroy no more!
CONCLUDED AFTER THE LAPSE OF A FEW DAYS. *TIS past, sweet babe! thy transient race is run, Bwist has it past-scarce one revolving sun
Has run its course, since first, with hope and joy,
[For an account of which, see p. 399 of this Number.)
FREDERICK, BY MR. INCLEDON.
But, fearless, braves the angry decp;
And swectly rocks him to bis sleep.
In his hammock swings,
When the steersman sings
An English vessel heaves in view;
From bouny Kate, he lov'd so true.
Yet to hope he clings,
When the seaman sings
The storm is pass'd, the battle's o'er,
Nature and man repose in peace;
And his big heart sings
While the steersman sings
; SPLASH, BY MR. FAWCETT.
Or what fair one's I've seen,
I'm sure it would fill
A Chancery bill,
First at Acton and Ealing,
Maidenhead and Leatherhead.