O fay, are thefe moments forgotten for ever?
Doth no fond remembrance e'er call for a figh?
The pangs which I fuffer, O! fay, do they never
Caufe the tear of compaffion to gleam in thine eye?
A mournful adieu! these enjoyments I've tafted;
Alas! my fair prospects have faded away-
I wander about, feeble, languid, and wasted,
My fpirits, my frame, finking fast to decay.
Native village, adieu! O what pangs rend my bofom!
Thy haunts, once fo dear, I muft vifit no more;
The fweet bud of hope has been nipt in its bloffoin,
And peace to my foul nought can ever restore ;
When at length the green turf my cold ashes shall cover,
If by chance my Matilda fhould e'er wander near,
Perhaps the will figh, when the thinks on her lover,
And the grave of Rofario be wet with a tear.
ENEATH chill penury's inclement blaft,
Low lies the rofe, which hope indulgent gave;
Like that, is Friendship's airy pageant paft,
And want, prophetic, bodes a wretched grave.
Now, in loud triumph fwells the flanderous voice
Of Envy, on her fwift pinions borne ;
But know, foul fiend, and cease thee to rejoice,
This breaft can fpurn and give thee fcorn for fcorn:
Vain is the rage of thy embattled tongue,
Thy ire indignant, or thy hell-fraught guile, (Though cold misfortune's iron bow be ftrung) Where heaven-born fortitude imprints a smile
Yet, like a ftar, the friend who truly feels
Shall fhine; (while thou shalt die beneath the test) And thy pale hand, Adverfity, reveals
The generous flame ennobled in his breast.
HERE yonder green willows fo pale,
Wave their leaves o'er the lake's filver breast,
Sleep Alma the young, and Rondale,
From the cares of the world now at reft.
Time was, when poor Alma was fair
As the lily that blooms in the wood,
To Rondale, the brave, was she dear,
Ah! no maid was fo fair or fo good.
Together full oft would they ftray,
Where flowly yon ftream winds along,
Or at morn, or at close of the day,
To hear the young nightingale's fong.
What time, when devoid of all care,
The hind feeks his cottage of rest,
Rondale, with his Alma so fair,
Skim'd over the lake's filver breast.
The evening was calm and ferene,
Low funk was the fun-and the gale
Murmur'd foftly the willows between,
And inflated the dark swelling fail,
As they glide o'er the surface so bright,
Rondale oft attunes his fweet flute;
And the cygnets attend with delight,
To Alma's melodious lute.
When lo! on a fudden the sky
Grows dark, and the winds loudly roar,
The bittern with fhrill-fwelling cry,
Swiftly haftes to the far-diftant thore.
The land now they feek,-but in vain !—
All around them is gloomy and dark,
Nor now o'er the wind-ruffled plain,
Alas! can they guide their small bark,
Next morning a peasant pafs'd by,
And faw on the shore rudely caft
The lovers; ah! clos'd was each eye,
And their arms round each other twin'd faft!
Now the willows fo green ever wave
Their leaves o'er the lovers ftill tomb,
And the lilies delight on their grave
With beauty and fragrance to bloom.
Lynn, April 13th.
LIRTILLA with enchanting grace,
A lovely form, and beauteous face,
Attracts the gay admiring crowd,
Her charms by all the beaux allow'd:
Smiling on all who ardent gaze,
She heeds not love, but feeks for praise.
Her ruling paffion vanity,
And fond of nought but flattery-
With bofom fteel'd to Cupid's darts,
She plays with more fufceptive hearts;
Attentive hears each lover's tale,
While each believes his fighs prevail;
Gives hopes to all, but love to none,
Yet ftrives to please them ev'ry one:
Fops, fools, and wits, are all carefs'd,
The most efteem'd who flatter best.
Content to trifle time away,
She flies to opera, ball, or play;
But only goes to be admir'd,
By mufic, nor by fenfe, infpir'd:
Yet fhould a lover dare complain,
She foon difcards him with difdain;
Laughs with his rivals, who, in turn,
To bear the fame contempt must learn:
Regardless if her chains they break,
Secure fresh conquests still to make.
As careless spendthrifts fquander wealth,
Her beauty (the destroys,) and health:
Of blifs Hymenial makes a jeft;
Yet 'midft her pleasures is unbleft:
Still for the fubftance grafps the fhade,
Still lives-degrading thought!—a maid.
Ah, would Flirtilla me attend,
(Not as a lover-but a friend,)
Reafon and truth fhould clearly prove,
Joy only dwells with mutual love;
That coxcombs, plum'd in love's disguise,
Still flatter where they moft defpife;
That female friends, like pearls of morn,
Do but that glittering hour adorn;
That beauty, like the tender flower,
Lives not beyond the noon-tide hour;
That virgin charms foon fade and die,
And lovers, as inconstant, fly!
Then hafte, Flirtilla, would I say,
No longer trifle time away,
But take Conftantia for thy guide,
Give, give thy hand, and be a bride;
Then fhalt thou tafte the sweets of life,
Bleft as a mother and a wife,-
Know all the joys the world can give,
And honour'd and respected live.
Or fhouldst thou his advice neglect,
Without a husband to protect,
Without a child in life's decline,
No aged comfort shall be thine;
But when the bloom of youth's gone by,
Neglected live, forgotten die.
TO THE MANY WHO WONDER AT MR. FOX'S CONDUCT.
EVELOPE, I believe, I can,
The reafon why this noted man
Would French refinements introduce;
'Tis from a wifh to heal his fame,
He wants to wipe a tarnish from his name,
From which it can't be freed while breeches are in ufe.
AN OCCASIONAL SATYRIST.
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