1792. poetry. Loy 
Indiff'rence! ch‘lling pow’r! I hate thy names 
Thou arta stranger to each dear delight ! 
'T hou never felt mild friendfhip’s noble flame, 
And angry love far from thee wings his flight 
At thy approach the social feelings fly, 
And listlefs apathy the heart doth seek. 5 
‘Soft Pity rises toher native fky, 
And Joy’s bright tear no more bedews the cheek. 
Go? tefs, avaunt! seize not upon my heart, 
It oft has mourn’d with sorrow’s haplefs child ; 
It scorns the calmnefs which thou canst impart, 
And is to sensibility gesign’d. 
ELvinaAe 
eel eee 
VERSES TO PHILOMEL. 
For the Bee. 
T so love lorn tenant of the woody hill, 
Whose plaints remurmur down. fair C—d—’s fhore 
In tender harmony,—oh now be still, 
And tell the list’ning moon thy woes no more. 
Ere late, till hapelefs love had found my breast, 
Thy mournful music warbling in the wind, 
Could soothe each momentary care to rest, 
And wake the soft emotions of the mind 5. 
While smiling sympathy with humid eye, 
Unhurt by any sorrows of its own, 
Could lend to fancied wee a virtuous sighy 
And fhed a tear at thy pathetic moan. 
But ah! th’ ideal scene is chang’d,—and, now, 
For her own woes the tears of sorrow flow. 
ARMINE. 
EPIGRAM,. BEE, VOL. xi. Pp. 66. TRANSLATED 
For the Bee. 
Tis death (the doctor sage declares) 
T’ indulge in gen’rous wine, 
Nor will permifsion grant, he swears, 
To kifs the nymph divine. 
But if I must good wine renounce,. 
And girls both brown and fair too, 
Adieu, good Sir! I must at once 
The other world repair toy 
