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1797+) 
-TO AMELIA: 
FROM me AMELIA need not fly, 
Nor fhur me with averted eye; © 
With no unhallowed hand I come, 
To tear the wreath from Henry’s tomb : 
Ah! no-—thy griefs refemble mine, 
And I would mingle fighs with thine ; 
Nought can thy Henry e’er reftore, 
And my Amanda lives no more ! 
Whiltt o’er thy woes I heave a figh, » 
The fofteft breath of fympathy, 
Not pity’s tears alone I fhed, 
But more for my Amanda dead ! 
Forl, like thee, have fondly lov’d, 
And all its chafte endearments prov’d 5 
But now, with love, life’s joys are o’er: 
They fled with her w/o lives no more ! 
Revolving years have wing’d their flight, 
And fpring, the feafon of delight, 
Has only {till beheld me mourn, 
While others hail’d its glad return: 
The flow’rs that, chill’d by winter, die, 
And deep in fnow-wreaths bury’d lie, 
Returning fprings to life reftore ; 
But my manda lives xo more ! 
ALEBOIN, 
eer 
THE WRONGS OF PENURY, 
Occafioned by a Paffage in CooPER’s Reply to 
Burke's daveGive. 
) 

Is he not juft, that all this doth behold 
From kighe/t heaven, and bears an equal eye ? 
SPENCER. 

()PPRESSION ! tyrant of man’s feeble race, - 
Tis thine to bid the fury paffions rage ; 
From life’s gay morn to {natch the blooming 
grace, 
Or mingle anguifh in the cup of age, 
Lo! at thy call, the fiends of lawlefs pow’r 
Surprife the peafant’s unprotected fhed 5 
{ntrude on weary’d toil’s repofing hour, 
And feek in night to hide the ruthlefs deed. 
Nor wakes the deed a patriot’s ardent tongues 
Nor fuits the lowly theme a fenate’s cares 5 
Negleéted Penury, o’er thy cruel wrongs 
Chatham was filent, and-ev’n Fox forbears. 
Yet Juftice fleeps not o’er the guilty icene, 
Yet hears Compaffion the torn fufferer’s cry 5 
While taught by Cooper’s philanthropic pea, 
The Mufe gives language to the victim’s igh. 
How oft I liften’d to the grateful theme, 
That ‘tis a Briton’s birth-right to be free ; 
How oft, deluded by a {pecious dream, 
Thail’d the land of law and liberty. 
' In vain—the captive’s abject doom to prove, 
Is mine ; and mine; alas! the felon’s lot, 
Forc'd from the f{cenes, where virtue deign’d to 
rove, 
And, wi h contentment, fhare a peafant’s cots 
MontTuty Mac. No. XV. 
— Original Poetry. 219 
aq 
For ever fled, ye dear connubial joys, 
That toilfome life’s beft folace could afford 5 
Nor fhe, whofe merit was my early choice, 
Again fhall greet me to our frugal board, 
While want forbids the dreary hearth to burn, 
Her woes no fond expectance can beguile ; 
No more fhe liftens for my wifh’d return, 
To foothe fatigue with love’s wnpurchas’d 
{mile, 
No more my prattling infants fhall repair 
Around their fire—his daily labour done ; 
For now, defrauded of a father’s care, 
Some niggard hand may deal the !egal boon; 
Some practis’d fpoiler of a virgin’s fame, 
Her youth fhould beauty’s fatal charms adorn, 
May lure a friendle{s maid to gilded thame ; 
Then, loathing, caft her on the public fcorn. 
Ah! there to wander, Luft’s unpity’d flave— 
The reveller’s {port—the prey of dire difeafe 5 
Or hide from man, beneath the kinder grave, 
A form that Nature vainly taught to pleafe, 
But Power’s rude minions mock my boding 
Care ; 
They drag new victims to Ambition’s fhrine ; 
Ev’n now they urge me to the impious war, 
Againft a brother man—no foe of mine! 
Yet, Pen’ry, te his throne thy caufe fhall rife 
Who looks on mortals with an equal eye 5 
Who marks Oppreffion, thro’ her artful guife, 
And hears the captive’s unregarded figh. 
Yet may the angel, Peace, with gentle hand, 
The woes of wrong’d Humanity aftuage 5 
The thrine of Freedom raife in every land, 
And bring to earth another golden age, 
When nor ambition’s flame, nor luft of wealth, 
Shall blaft the young defire to ferve and 
pleafe 5 
When temp’rate labour gives the pulfe of health, 
Nor toil confumes, nor waftes luxurious eate 5 __ 
When man for man the kindred paffion owns, 
While Juftice pays what Charity bettow’d 5 
, And Nature’s bounty vifits all Her fons, | 
Free, as from Heav’n the gen’rous bleffing 
flow’d, 
J. TR. 
EE 
TO NIGHT. 
HOU, of Chaos eldeft born, 
Ere the earlieft ray of morn 
Pour’d its virgin ftream of light, 
Hail, Queen of Shadows—Night ! 
Let him who bafks in fortune’s ray, 
Love the glaring hour of day; 
W hofe heart has never learnt to know 
The cankering care, the wearying woe 3 
Let him love the mid-day light— 
I have feen it with delight. 
Nurfe of Melancholy, come! 
Wrap me in thy kindred gloom ; 
Ff 



