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When be, whom ev'n our joys provoke,

The fiend of Nature, join'd his yoke, And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey;

Thy form from out thy sweet abode.

O'ertook him on his blasted road, And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away

I see recoil his sable steeds,

That bore him swift to savage deeds,
Thy tender melting eyes they own;
O maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,

Where justice bars her iron tower,

To thee we build a roseate bower, Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our

monarch's throne !

TO HOPE.

.

Ab, woe is me! from day to day

I drag a life of pain and sorrow: Yet still, sweet hope, I hear thee say

“ Be calm, thine ills will end to-morrow."

The morrow comes, but brings to me

No charm disease or grief relieving! And am I ever doomed to see,

Sweet Hope, thy promises deceiving!

Yet, false and cruel as thou art,

Thy dear delutions will I cherish: I cannot, dare not with thee part,

Since I alas! with thee must perish.

HOPE.

The wretch condemn'd with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimm’ring tapers light,

Adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

PITY.

Hail lovely pow'r, whose bosom heaves a sigh,

When fancy paints the scene of deep distress; Whose tears spontaneous chrystalize the eye,

When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless.

Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey

From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare; Not dew-drops glittring in the morning ray, Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear.

Devoid of fear the fawns around thee play;

Emblems of peace, the dove before thee flies; No blood-stain'd traces mark thy blameless way,

Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.

Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me,

To spring the partridge from the guileful foe, From secret snares the struggling bird to free, And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.

And when the air with heat meridian glows,

And nature droops beneath the conq’ring gleam, Let us, slow wand'ring where the current flows, Save sinking flies that float along the stream.

Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,

To me thy sympathetic gifts impart; Teach me, in friendship’s grief, to bear a share;

And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart.

Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief;

With timely aid the widow's woes assuage; To mis’ry's inoving cries to yield relief,

Aud be the sure resource of drooping age.

So when the verdant spring of youth shall fade,

And sinking nature owns the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,

And gild the close of life's eventful day.

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