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* Ah! why all abandon’d to darkness and wo:
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn , O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away;
Full quickly they pass--but they never return. 56 Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays: But lately I inark'd when majestic on high
She shoue, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again: But man's faded glory what change sliall renew?
Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain! « 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more :
I mourn ; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you: For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittring with dew. Nor yet for the lavage
of winter 1 mours : Kind nature the embryo blossom will save: But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn !
O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave! “ 'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; My tho'ts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'l,
ily creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free: And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See t:ith, love, and mercy in triumph descending,
And wature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death, siniles and roses are blending
Auri beauty in nortal awakes from the tomb."
The Beggar's Petition.
condition may be soon like mine,
My tender wife, sweet soother of
man, Whose treinbling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; 0! give relief, and hear'n will bless your store:
Unhappy close of Life. How shocking must thy sommons be, 0 Death! To him that is at ease in his possessions ! Who, counting on long years of pleasure here, Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come! In that dread inoment, how the frantic soul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement; Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help ; But shrieks in vain! How wishfully she looks On all she's leaving, now no longer her's ! A little longer ; yet a little longer; O might she stay to wash away her stains ; And fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! Her very eyes weep blood ; and ev'ry groan She heaves is big with horrour. But the foe, Like a staunch murd'rer, steady to his purpose, Pursues her close thro' ev'ry lane of life ; Nor misses once the track, but presses on, Till forc'd at last to the tremendous verge, At once she sinks to everlasting ruin. R, BLAIR.
Elegy to Pity.
When fancy paints the scene of deep distress ;
When rigid fate denies the powr to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey om flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare ;
Trops glitt'ring in the morning ray,
r so beauteous as thạt falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play ;
peace, the dove before thee flies ; No blood stain'd traces mark thy blameless way :
Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.
To spring the partridge from the guileful foe;
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam, Let us, slow wandering where the current flows,
Save sinking flies that float along the stream.
To me thy sympathetic gifts impart ;
And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart.
And be the sure resource of drooping age. So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid, And gild the close of life's eventful day.
SECTION V. Verses supposed to be written by Alex. SELKIRK, during his
solitary abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez, * I Am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute ;
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
That sages liave seen in thy face?
Than reign in this horrible place.
I must fivish my journey alone ;
1 start at the sound of iny own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man ; O had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age,
Aud be cheer'd by the sallies of youth, Religion ! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavcnly word ! More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard ; Ne’er sigh’d at the sound of a kuell,
Or smil'd when a sabbath appear’d. Ye winds that have made me your sports.
Convey to this desr Tate shore, Some cordial endearing, report
Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me 1 yet have a friend,
Though a friend. I am never to see.. How fleet is a glance of the mind !
Compard with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
Anithe swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea fowl is gone to her nest;
The beast is laid down in his lair;