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"Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze,
I see him rise the whitening waves above, 'No longer such as when in happier days • He gave the enchanted hours--to me and love.
• Such, as when daring the enchafed sea,
eril, one soft smile from me,
• But dead, disfigur’d, while between the roar • Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear, · And seem to say,
-Ah! wretch, delay no more • But come, unhappy mourner--meet me here.
Yet, powerful fancy, bid the phantom stay,
• Ah! wild illusion, born of frantic pain ! • He hears not, comes not from his watery bed;
My tears, my anguish, my despair are vain, • The insatiate ocean gives not up its dead.
'Tis not his voice ! Hark! the deep thunders roll; • Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail;
Approach, ye horrors that delight my soul,
The ocean hearsThe embodied waters come Rise o'er the land, and with resistless sweep, Tear from its base the proud aggressor's tomb, And bear the injur'd to eternal sleep!
Lie lightly on her bosom gentle earth!
For poor Amelia's bosoin was the seat
Of maiden purity, and once it beat With nature's best affections; but ber worth Bloom'd like the desert flower. Hard Poverty
His heavy hand upon her race had laid, No friend, no dear congenial soul had she, Her cold, coarse comrades drove the wretched
maid To lonely thought. The feelings that had blest A fellow heart, imprison’d in her breast,
Were tortures there, and on her life they prey'd,
Poor victim of misfortune from her birth. She pin'd away and died, and is at rest,
Lie gently on her som, gentle earth!
ON AN INFANT.
To the dark and sitetit tomb,
I no smiling pleasures knew;
Happy infant, early bless'd!
No delights are worth thy stay,
All our gaiety is vain,
J. Raw, Printer, Ipswicht.