220 
For fweet it is alone to rove 
At thy fill hour, the fecret grove, 
And mufe upon the diftant day, 
When, in Hope’s clear morning, gay, 
I look'd with pleafure to the morrow, 
Ere my foul was link’d to forrow ; 
Ere Fancy fled from adyerfe Fate, 
And left me Mifery for my mate. 
Be it mine to quit the throng, 
And lift the nightingale’s fad fong5 
Till wand’ring filent on and flow, ~ 
Deipair may foften into woe ! 
And, when every paft delight 
Painful Memory calis to fight, 
Cherifh'd by thy kindred gloom, 
‘Think of that cold repofe that ftills the tomb. 
I have lov’d alone to rove, 
When twilight deepens o’er the grove ; 
T have lov’d in filence long : 
To hie me from the bufy throng 5 
And give my foul to her toe dear, 
And drop the fadiy-foothing tear; _ 
Sometimes fond Fancy’s hand would fpread 
Her airy vifions round my head ; 
‘Sometimes my raptur’d fou! would dream 
Of Friendthip’s fafcinating theme ; 
Till, rous’d by ftern RefleCtion’s power, 
Grief triumph’d in the‘fhadowy hour 5 
And every nerve, in anguifh low, 
Would vibrate to the touch of woe. 
Sweet is to me, majeftic Night ! 
The fad ferenity of thy dim light! 
Efcap’d the world’s tumultuous train, 
I court the filence of thy reign— 
To lift the night-bird’s diftant cry, 
‘To mark the quick bat flitter by ; 
Hear the far curfew’s hollow found, 
And the dark foreft ruftling round. 
Slow as thy fhadows rife, I feel 
A tranquil calm o’er my full boiom fteal ; 
Sometimes my foul wil! foar on high, 
Journeying the tracklefs fpace of fky ; 
And where the evening ftar’s pale light 
Glimmers thro’ the gloom of Night, 
Will deem, that, fled from ail my woes, 
There, I fhall one day find repofe. 
S. 
—— ee -~ 
A MA FEMME, 
Le “four de ma Mart. 
PAR LE C, LACHABEAUSSIERE. 
A DIEU ! de mon bonheur tendre dépofitaire, 
*“~ Par qui je Pai connu, je Pai gotité quinze 
ans ; 
Des talens, des vertus, 6 modéle exemplaire ! 
Adieu! je vais périr, victime des tyrans: 
D'un monftre fans pudeur, la cruauté farouche, 
Fait du glaive des lois un poignard affaflin; 
Le crime eft dans fon ceur, la vertu dans fa 
bouche, 
Un manteau de Brutus a déguifé Tarquin. 
Peuple, que je te plains! on a rivé ta chaine; 
Je te laiffe avili ;—c’eft-!4 mon feul rezret: 
Je'te vois encenfer qui mérite ta haine— 
/ Fat d&ja trop vécu~ela mort ef un bienfait, 
Original Poetry: : 
{ March, - 
Tyrans de mon pays—deéftructeurs de fa gloire? 
L’opprobre vous attend chez la poftérité ; 
- Vous’ échapperez pas au burin de Vhiftoire, 
Le crime porte auth fon immortalité. 
Adieu, femme chérie!—on m’appelie—il eft 
temps=—= 2 
Je pars—fonge bien moins 4 pleurer qu’a me 
fuivre— 
Tu n’as pas mérité le fupplice de vivre. 
Lafyle des cceurs purs eft ouvert—Je t’attends. 
TO A YOUNG LADY. 
FARP is the heart that does not melt with 
2 ruth, 
When care fits, cloudy, on the brow of youth; 
When bitter griefs the female bofom fwell, - 
And Beauty meditates a fond farewel 
To her lov’d native land, prepar’d to roam, 
And feek in climes afar the peace denied at 
home. 
The Mufe, with glance prophetic, fees her ftand 
(Forfaken, filent lady) on the ftrand ‘ 
Of fartheft Ind a, fick’ning at the roar 
Of each dull wave, flow dath’d upon the fhore ; 
Sending, at intervals, an aching eye 
O’er the wide waters, vainly, to efpy 
The long-expeéted bark, in which to find 
Some tidings of a world fhe lett behind, ~ 
At fuch a time fhall ftart the gufhing tear, * 
For fcenes her childhood lov’d, now doubly dear. - 
At fuch a time fhall frantic mem’ry wake 
Pangs ef remorfe, for flighted England’s fake ; 
And for the fake of many a tender tie 3 
Of love, or friendfhip, pafs’d too lightly by. 
Unwept, unhonour’d, ’midft an alien race, 
And the co/d locks of many a /franger face, 
How will her poor heart bleed, aud chide the 
day, 
That from her country took her far away. 
Sb. 
EEE 
TO HARRIOT. 
Hush thee, my Love, nor dream of dangers 
nigh, 
Forget thy forrows ina lover’s arms 3 
Secure from future as {rom prefent harms, 
Subdue the efforts of that fimuggling figh. 
And let me kifs away the gathering tear, - 
That drowns thoie mild eyes’ wonted elo> 
quence. 
Harriot, the gloomy influence of fufpence 
Lords o’er thy mind ;—we have no caufe for 
fear. 
My heart ftill beats to thofe foft founds of joy, 
Once utter’d, ne’er forgot ; O moft unkind, 
What cold refolves thy beft affe€tions bind ? 
And demon-like, our darling hopes deftroy ? 
Speak—let -us fiy thefe haunts of vice and 
ftrife, 
And virtuous love fhall chown our future life. 

¥** We are compelled to irtreat the indulgence of 
feveral poetical Corre/pondents, whofe favours, 
though deferred, will regularly afifcar, in the 
‘order_in whith they were received, 
NEW 
