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O may no cloister'd cell thy gifts confine,

No rude barbarian thy mild reign destroy, But as the fun may'st thou unbounded shine,

And o'er each realm diffuse thy halcyon joy. Thy genuine influence waft from pole to pole, Far as the breezes fly-wide as the billows roll! Lynn, June 4, 1798.

ABRAHAM AYTON.

STANZAS,

TO MARIA LAMENTING.

'HEN night's fable curtain envelopes the skies,
And the fun's cheering beams are withdrawn,

WE

How dreary all nature! the traveller cries,

As in darkness he wanders forlorn.

But when all-refulgent, Aurora appears,
And Sol his bright radiance difplays,

His heart glows with rapture, difpers'd are his fears,
And with transports the change he furveys!

Life's journey to this we may justly compare,
Joy and forrow by turns intervene,

Whilft hope is the cordial that fweetens our care,
And the sunshine that brightens each scene.

Then if fortune, capricious, her fmiles now refuse,
Yet ceafe, dear Maria, to mourn!

The day is approaching, perchance, when my mufe
With gladness shall hail their return.

Let Hope, foothing goddess, be ever in view;
Oh, banish the spectre Despair!

And forget not-the hearts that are conftant and true,
Are heaven's peculiar care!

Lynn, June 8, 1798.

A. AYTON,

ODE TO THE ZEPHYR.

ILD spirit of the western gale,

MILD

Should now my simple strains prevail, If now the mufe my song infpire;

O! from the lucid cloud-wrought sphere Where thou art borne, propitious hear The notes that wildly warble from my lyre.

Say, faireft of aerial forms,

From winter's dire impetuous florms,
Doft thou to heavenly manfions flee;
Or hid'it where genii of the deep
Their courts, in awful filence, keep
In cavern'd depths beneath th' Atlantic fea?
For when the genial spring draws nigh
With playful mein, mirth-glancing eye,
Swift iffuing from thy hiding place,
As wide she spreads her blooming store
Of floral fweets, thou hov'reft o'er,
Gazing enamour'd on her beauteous face.

The clouds fraught with the vernal show'r,
As marshall'd by thy magic pow'r,

Then fring'd with lucid gold, advance,
Ting'd with the bows refulgent dyes:
And penfile hills romantic rife,
Floating fublime o'er the cerule expanse.

The mimic tempeft harmless raves;
When urg'd by thee the briny waves,
Tumultuous murm'ring, lafh the strand;
And as the foaming billow fwells,
It swift the feaman's bark impels,
Who hails with raptur'd eye his native land.

Beneath the scorching glare of day
As nature faints, thou speed'ft thy way;
At eve, on airy pinions borne

All dripping with ethereal dew;
Again her charms revive anew,

And livelier tints th' enamell'd plains adorn.

And when the moon, with languid beams,
O'er fome fequefter'd valley gleams,
In antic fports 'tis thy delight

To join with elfin bands, who bound
With printless footsteps o'er the ground,
And give to revels all the tranquil night.
Or with cherubic forms to rove
The misty hill, or shadowy grove,
Or lightly kim the gay parterre,
With kiffes greeting every flow'r
That decks the meads, or mid the bow'r,
Diffuses fragrance thro' the ambient air.

O! fpirit of the western gale,
Whene'er I tread the dewy vale,
Or by the ftreamlet liftless lie;
On me thy tend'reft care employ,
To raise my drooping frame to joy,
With fanning wings around me often fly.

J. J. PEAT.

ON LOVE,

WRITTEN AT THE DESIRE OF SOME LADIES*.

EAR Girls, you request me to write,

DE

On a subject I little do know;

But if you, who have felt, would indite,
To be fure my cold bofom must glow.

There are fome I have heard who declare,
And with them I'm inclin'd to agree,
Whether black, brown, ugly, or fair,

Its the fame for Love never can feez

That its not in the delicate form,

Or the rofeate hue of the skin,

Which in mortals fhould kindle the flame;
But the MIND that's incircled within.

*Two of the Ladies are about to be married,

The casket indeed may be mean,

Yet if it enclofes a soUL,

Thofe who find it need never complain,
Who feel it, would grafp at the whole.
With emotions like thefe I now feel,

A dear object so true could I find;
Though bathful I would not conceal,
And I furely must tell her my mind.
For 'tis VIRTUE alone will remain,
When youth and when beauty are gone;
To poffefs fuch a nymph I will aim,
And my charmer and I shall be one.

Now ladies, pray take my advice,

Your lover's true character scan;

Tho' wit, and tho' humour the senses may please, 'Tis the MIND that ennobles the man.

London, July 2, 1798.

S. S.

"

TO CYNTHIA.

RE, Cynthia life, and thy fphere,

And rob'd in heav'n's tranfparent dye;

O'er this dark world thy chariot steer,
With mild ferenenefs through the sky.

Courting the lone fequefter'd shade,
Where eve may caft her pearly dew;
Thy orb fhall o'er the tinctur'd glade
Á thousand filvery tapers ftrew.
And pleas'd with thy benignant fmile,
While ftillness rules each leafy haunt |
In nature's gay untutor'd ftyle,

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Coy Philomel may breathe her chaunt.

But now scarce does the echoing vale,
The richness of its bloom difplay;

Nor is the warbler's fimple tale,
Attun'd to thee in fondest lay.

And favour'd with a fable gloom,

While blows the gale with midnight breath,
Mourn'd fhades forfake their darkling tomb,
The agents to approaching death.

Ah! rife again, with brighten'd beam,
On night's full wing thy radiance throw;
Loft in expanfe man's wav'ring dream,
May shortly cease to hail thy glow.
Manchester, 1798.

HA

TO CHEERFULNESS.

C

ASTE, bright-eyed fair one, hafte away,
From warlike camps, and ball-rooms gay;

The iprightly dance, the fife and drum
Suffices there; Oh! charmer come
From thefe gay fcenes, and those of strife,
And breathe in me thy breath of life.
Then, though I liv'd in fome poor cot,
Or though a prifon were my lot,
With honour bleft, and bleft by thee,
I ftill fhould happy, happy be.

June 11, 1798.

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THE COMPLAINT.

EDWARD,

H, be it mine upon the craggy fhore,
To fit, and hear the melancholy roar
Or the deep-founding ocean-there my fighs
Shall join the winds which from the far wave rise,
With whiftles, long and dreary-there my woe
Shall groan defpondance to the deep below,
And call the tear, doom'd, ever doom'd to flow.
No more, the world's big pag'antry fhall charm,
The worm of anguish, or its fangs difarm,

Ah!

no, the fublunary pomp is mean, Where cold difguft embitters ev'ry scene,

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