25° 
( 
poetry. June 29, 
ec ‘Ah ‘Maraton ! haste thee,”’ fhe cries, 
‘‘ Here the reign of opprefsion is o’erg 
“© The tyrant is robb’d of his prize! 
** And Addila sorrows, ne mere.” . ; 
Row sinking amid the dim ray, 
Her form seems to fade on my vieWe © 
© Oh stay thee! my Addila, stay !* 
She beckons and I must pursue. 
‘To-morrow the white man, in vain, 
Shall proudly account me his slave ! | 
My thackles I plunge in the main, 
And rufh to the realms of the brave! Cc. 
AN IRREGULAR EPISTLE, 
For the Bee. 
Now ev’ning, drefs’d in sober grayy 
Steals silent on the lap of day; 4 
"The lofty hills and landscapes gay, | 
Deceive the sight and melt away; — 
The hare that oer the lawns did stray, 
‘The bird that warbled from the spray, - 
The lamb, that round did sportive play, 
Do each the call of night obey, 
And homeward seek their wonted way. 
‘Then, whilst in repose gentle nature indulges, 
Whilst Old Age, by the fire, his long story divulges, 
Whilst jovial mortals quaff off their full glafses, 
And drown in champaigne all their cares and distrefses, 
To you, my dear Tom, Ill my bosom disclose, 
And freely reveal all my pleasures and woes: 
For concealment soon quenches the quick blaze of joy, 
Whilst it teaches grief’s slow-wasting flame to destroy. 
The dreaded sting of bitter woe, 
My joyful heart does seldom know, 
In sweet content my days I spend, 
Blest with a brother and a friend. 
Not all the pleasures, all the treasures 
Which fill the splendid courts of kings, 
Procure a joy without alloy, 
Such as from gentle friendfhip springs. 
The man who lives unstain’d by vice, 
Virtue, still, who makes his choice, © 
Tho’ distrefs’s loathsome form, 
And misfortune’s furious storm, 
