ae 
SUSAN. 
Nay, Edward, fink not thus in vain diftrefs, 
Torturing my heart with needlefs wretchednefs; 
Wadft thou been deom’d, an outcaft wretchy 
togo 
Where eialets winter piles the plain with fnow, 
T would have Jull’d thee even there to reft, 
Pillowing thy forrows on thy Sufan’s breaft. 
Or were we left to fojourn on fome fhore, 
Where the woods echo to the lion’s roar, 
Though danger fcream’d in every pafing wind, 
Still I were blct if Edward were but kind. 
Flere we are {afe, on this pacific fhore 
No tygers prow], no mighty lions roar, 
No howling wolf is heard, nor fecret brake 
Conceals the venom of the coiling fnake; 
Indulgent heaven a milder brood beftows, 
A milder clime to foothe the exile’s woes. 
Soft as in England, fmile the fummers heie, 
pa gentle winters clofe the dying year; 
orhere is heard th’ autumnal whirlwind’s 
breath, 
Nor vernal tempefts breathe the blaft of death. 
Could I one fmile on Edward’s face but fee, 
This humble dwelling were the world to me. 
EDWARD. 
Ah, Sufan! humble is indeed this cot, 
And well it fuits the outcaf’s wretched lot ; 
Well fuits the horror of this barren {cene, 
A ming as drear as comfortlefs within. 
Tis juft that I fhould tread the joylefs fhore, 
Lift to the wintry tempeft’s fullén roar, 
Plough up the ftubborn and ungrateful foil, 
Karn the {cant pittance of a felon’s toil, 
And fleep fcarce thelter’d from the nightly dew, 
Where howls around the difmal Kangarco, 
This I have merited, but then to know 
Sufan partakes her barbarous hufband’s woe, 
Unchang’d by infult, cruelty, and hate, 
Partakes an outcaft’s bed, a felon’s fate, 
‘To fee her fondly ftrive to give relief, 
Forget his crimes, and only fhare his grief — 
And then on all my actions pat to dwell, 
My crimes, my cruelties—’tis worfe than 
hell. 
SUSAN, 
Oh fpare me, fpare me! ceafe to wound my 
breaft, ; 
Be thou content, and we fhall both be bleft. 
Whit are to me the idle’s gay reforts, 
‘The buz of cities and the pomp ef courts ? 
Without one vain regret to call a tear, 
To wake one with, I feel contented here; 
And we fhall yet be happy: yonder ray, 
The mild effulgence of departing day, 
As gayly gilds this humble dwelling o'er, © 
As the proud domes on England's diftant fhore ; 
As brightly beams in morning’s op’ning light, 
As faintly fading finks in fhadowy night. 
EDWARD. 
Sink, glorious fun ! and never may I fee 
Thy bleffed radiance rife again on me ! 
There was a time, when cheerfully thy light 
Wak’d me at morn,and peace was mine at night, 
Till I had lavifhed all! 11/1 mad wich play, 
T turn’d a villain, from the villain’s prey; 
Till known and branded-Oh that Leaven 
would hear 
My heaxt’s deep with, my Jaft and enly pray-r! 
Original Poetry. 
(Jan. 
Soon would I change exifsence with delight, 
For the long fleep of one eternal night. 
SUSAN. 
Ungrateful man ! for ever wilt thou be 
The caufe of all thy Sufan’s mifery ? 
For thee, yon wafte of wayes I travers’d o’er,” 
For thee forfook my friends, my native fhorey 
-And I could here be happy— 
EDWARD. | . 
ae —Oh forgive 
Th’ impatient guilty wretch that lothes to live! 
Forgive me, Sulan, if my tortur’d mind 
Will dwell on happier fcenes long left behind’: 
The lenient hand of time perchance may heal 
The guilty pangs, the deep remorfe, I feel. 
And though thy bufband in his happier ftate 
Thy virtues knew, end would not imitate, 
This hambl’d heart at length may learn of thee 
To bow refign’d beneath calamity. 
Oxford. We rs 
EE 
LAURA LEAVES ARTWUR, TO. MAKE A VISIT 
TO A FRIEND BY THE SEA-SIDE. 
67 TX RUST not’’ he faid, ¢ the dang’rous fea, 
‘¢ Which {miles too often to deceive 
‘6 Ah! deareft Laura, think on me, 
‘¢ Nor once the fafer {fand-beach leave.” 
Laura’s fond heart, too full to fpeak, 
To Arthur figh’d a foft adieu ! 
Love’s gentle tear ftole down her cheek, 
As Arthur mournfully wichdrew. 
Laura, at ev’ning’s hour ferene, 
Lov’d by the murm’ring fea to ftray ; 
And there, by all unheard, unfeen, 
To faithful love her homage pay. 
In vain her gay companions fought 
To tempt her on the fmiling main, 
“ T cannot e’en,” fhe faid, & in thought, 
«s Give Arthur’s heart one moment’s pain, 
“ O then, forbear to urge me more 5 
“¢ Beneath yon cliff’s impending brow; 
6 1°ll for your fafe return to fhore, 
“ To ev'ry Nereid off rings vow.” 
Impatient Arthur, from the cares 
Of worldly bus’nefs now releas’ds 
With ardor to the fpot repairs, 
Where all his cares in rapture ceas"d. 
With beating heart, and falt’ring tongue, 
«¢ Where is my Laura?’”? Arthur cries 
66 Wandering, the fea-bound thore along’ —= 
Like light’ning, Arthur thither files. 
_ $6 Beneath yon cliff, there fits my love !” 
But ah, fond youth ! no more for theea= 
The mountain-torrent burfts above, 
And bears its victim to the fea. 
O’erwhelm’d with grief, long Arthur ftood, - 
And on the cliff ftill fix"d his eye; 
Then madly cry’d, “ In yonder flood, 
6¢ Sholl Arthur with his Laura die. 
6¢ Tt is by my il-omen’d care, 
“ That Laura finds a watry graves 
« T fee, I fee yon boat’s crew there, 
“ Securely ride the briny wave. 
“ They land! and with them Laura’s friend | 
<¢ Acain I hear the torrent roar, 
‘Sed her t’wards me her footfteps bend, 
¢ Qh heayen !”—he fell, and rofe no more, 
ANNABELLA PLUMPTRE, 
ORIGINAL 
