416 
£6 His ftvength was like the curling wave, 
“© When winds contending fight ; 
His blazing fword a meteox’s beam, 
“ Juft burfting into light. ; 
6 
n~ 
<‘ His breath, the lily-breathing gale, 
«‘ That Hoats through every grove 3 
. His blue eye glitter’d in its fphere, 
“6 The brighteft orb of love. 
“oO 
ca 
‘ Death with his cyprefs-twined dart 
¢ Rath fpoil’d my Conrad’s bloom ; 
Death, like a fable frowning cloud, 
“« That ftrides the mighty gloom. 
nn 
4 
* Cold is that hand, the needy’s friend, 
‘© That cheek, where rubies hung ; / 
S$ Silent the voice, that living harp, - 
“¢ Which truth itfelf had Arne 
€¢ Our mutual hopes, our mutual fears, 
<¢ One paffion feem’d to prove ; 
*¢ *Twas friendfhip, warm’d by virtue’s beam, 
« And foften’d into love. 
& Of warr 10%. hufband, lover, friend, 
< Till pity mourn the fall, 
£ Stay, traveller, weep for all he Jov’d 
s And fhould be wept by all. 
¢é Ten when againft your generous breaft 
“© The death-wing’d jav’lin flew, 
&¢ You gave unto ancther’s pain, 
/ & The pity ow’d to you. 


& Go-——--angels find your record’s page, 
&‘ From ail that’s vicious clear: 
‘¢ Go—where thowhaii no more to hope, 
«¢ And where no more to fear. 
« Oh! earth, that drank my Conrad’ s blood, 
«¢ That now my forrow hears, 
& With beads of dew bedeck ie piave, 
“ Yor fuch fhall be thy tears——~ 
<6 Patient was he, if fortune fown’d, 
“« Humble, if borne on high ; 
& Wiew Him, ye great, and learn tO Live—mmentey 
“ View im,——-and learn to die. 
6 Tf 1 could live, Vd live unfeen 
‘¢ A wicow’d maid alone ; 
&6 Embofom’d im the duiky vale, 
** As lilies bloom, Sy ies ae: 
BALLAD. 
Qe tarry, gentle traveller; 
OK tarry now at fetting day; 
Nor hafie to leave this lowly vale 
For lofty mountains far away. 
Oh tell me what has tempted thee 
Thro’ woods and dreary wilds to ream ; 
Gh tell me what has tempted thee 
To quit thy lot and peaceful home. 
Say, haft thou net a partner dear, 
"1 hat’s conftant to thy dove, ae kind? 
And wilt thou leave her faithful fide, 
Nox caft one forrowing look behind ? 
Original Poetry.  . 
[ May. 
Yon fun that gilds the village fpire, an 
And gaily dings his parting ray, 
Say, {miles he not as fweetly o’er 
Thy native village far away ? 
Does mad ambition lure thy fteps 
To wander in the paths of ftrife ? 
Ah think how fwift thy minutes fly ! 
Ah, think how fhort thy fpan of life ! 
For life is like yon crimfon beam 
That trembles in the weftern fkies ; 
Full foon, alas ! its glories ceafe ; - 
It fparkles—glimmers—tfaces—and dies. 
Gh wafte not then thy fleeting hours 
In foreign climes and paths unknown ; 
Return hee to the happy plains 
That bounteous nature made thy own, 
For me, ner gold, ner princely power, 
Nor purple veft, nor flately dome, 
Nor all that trophy’d grandeur boatts 
Shall lure me from my tranquil home, 2 
This ruftic cot and filent fhade 
Shall evermore my dwelling be ; 
E’en when my deftin’d days are {pent 
Pll reft beneath yon aged tree. 
Befides the brook, a fimple ftone, 
Shell ferve to athe my cold remains; 
And tell the Silecmre as ey pafs, 
I died amidit my native plains, 
Return then, gentle traveller ; 
Return thee with the morning ray } 
Nor leave again thy lowly vale, 
For lofty. monntains far away. 
EES 
TO MISS A. A. ON HEARING HER SING A MAB 
SONG, COMPOSED BY HERSELF, 
BY MR. GEORGE DYER. 
O bright thine eyes, fo kind thy — 
= fweet thy voice, fuch grace and eafe, 
In every breaft ts left a dart ; 
aie w couldft thou only h rope to pleafe ! 
The youth, who views fuch form and grace, 
Refigns his heart, a willing prey ; 
And he who can refift a face, 
Feels the keen arrow of thy lay. 
EEE 
THE DOGS TAXED, 
DOOR caitiffs ! your turn of extintion is conie; 
Death atlumes the grim form of taxation : 
an’s faithful, attach’d and unfortunate chum 
Muit prepare for his own deftination. 
‘a eS 
~ 
vi 
Way more, "tis required that, partaking his fate, 
' Man’s example yoti fteadily mark, 
And, fawning on each proper objeét of hate, 
Utter no jacobinical bark, 
So your fame it fhall Hoar of dying /ike meni, 
Under power’s fell lafh who have {marted ; 
As Bee hl in fad contraft, beneath modern ken, 
Like fo many dogs have departed, 
