1801. | 
« Thy ev’ning life of widow’d hue 
May yet be fancy-bleft : 
Return—’tis time to build anew 
Our long abandoned neft.” D. 

TRANSLATION of a copy of LATIN VERSES 
fent by POLITIAN #o LORENZO DE’ ME- 
DICI, on receiving from him the Gift of a 
Suit of Clothes. Sce the original in Ros- 
cor’s Life of LORENZO DE’MEDICI,~ 
Vol. I. Page 42 of the Appendix. 
fake ! blame me not—I long 
To thee to raife the grateful fong. 
Oft bending at the facred fhrine, 
I’ve wood the fweeteft of the Nine: 
At length fhe came—but, quick as light, | 
The goddefs vanifh’d in a fright. 
Dear timid maid! all clad in fcarlet 
She did not know the rhyming varlet. 
My faulty numbers then excufe, 
That want the polifh of the Mufe : 
Accuftom’d to my fimart attire, 
Once more, perchance, fhe’ll tune my lyre 
To ftrains of gratitude moft fervent, 
Till then—excufe your humble fervant. 
W., SHEPHERD. 

THE PURSUIT OF QUIET. 
in a SERIES of ELEGIES, by J. DELL, of 
DOVER, iz KENT, now firf? publifoed, 
(Concluded from page 440.) 
ELEGY V. 
Y Peace abandoned, whether fhall I 
ftray, 
Where feek a balm for my diftempered 
mind? 
Sorrow ftill drags me down her thorny 
way, 
And Mem’ry clafps her fatal gift be- 
hind! 
——Yet not from me alone {weet Peace 
hath fled —— 
Far from this world fhe holds her gol- 
den reign! 
Lo! tyrant War uplifts his hideous head, 
With Death and wild Deftruction in 
his train. mage 
The morning gleams not from the orient 
fkies, [ weit, 
The rofeate evening glows not in the 
Nor night in darknefs veils our flumber- 
_ ing eyes, 
Butthoufands fall at War’s fevere beheft! 
Tho’ deck’d with plumes War’s towering 
head may rife, ) 
Tho’ Glory feats him on a regal car, 
Tho’ Fame attends him thro’ the nether 
fkies, 
Yet Nature fickens at the fight of War! 
Montuty Mag, No. 67. , 
Original Poetry. 
537 
Scarce flows a ftream on Europe’s fated 
fhore, 
But flows, oh! deeply ftain’d with 
human blood !- 
Scarce {fpreads a plain the traveller wan- 
ders o’er, 
But fpreads bedew’d with life’s em- 
purpled flood! 
Faft fly the impious bards o’er every coaft, 
Beneath whofe tyrant fwords the na- 
tions bend ; 
Their treafures rifled, and their freedom 
loft ! 
——As bleeds the foe, fo bleeds the 
faithful friend. 
Obedient Fortune waits where’er they go? 
For them th’ inconftant elements are 
kind ! 
For them the proudeft ftreams forget ta 
flow, 
And, at their with, upfprings the favor 
ing wind ! 
No human wifdom could forefee the 
wrong, 
No human prudence can avert its force ! 
Like the mad whirlwind, lo, it {weeps 
along, 
And nought but Heav’n can check itg 
baneful courfe! 
Ambition, left to urge his wild career, 
‘Trampling all laws, and drench’d with 
human gore; _ 
Who lifts o’er every head the murd’rous 
{fpear, 
Till Nations vanith, to appear nd more 3 
Makes Reafon tremble on his vaunted 
throne ! 
I’m weary of Reflection !—O 
to find - 
Some opiate draught, or talifmanic ftone, 
To charm to Ref this agony of mind! 
Come, Sleep / and footh this malady of 
foul! 
Come, Sleep! and clafp me to thy 
downy breatt! 
Child of Oblivion! o’er my fancy roll, 
And in fome long, long flumber, grant 
me Refi. 
I afk no fweet illufions of the brain, 
Tho’ cft our dreams life’s waking joys 
excel : 
No !~-all the fhadowy tribes of mind en- 
chain, 
And bind Senfation in thy magic fpell. 
Now ceafe my tongue to mourn, my eyes 
to weep! 
Prepare the couch—prepare the dark- 
ling room! : 
Come, long, long night of ever-dreamlefs 
eep 
Nor elute till I am fummon’d to the 
tomb. 
3 Z "Til 
