288 
And all the milder virtues were difplay’d 5 
Good was her heart, and the was fit for blifs. 
Oh can I e’er forget, when, from the 
_ world 
Retir’d, in converfe fweet our days we paft! 
How oft to heav’n fhe pray’dto make me bleft, 
And grateful prais’d, and thank’d me for my 
love, © 
My conftant care, and mark’d attentions 
fhewn, 
All from the heart beftow’d, tof{mooth her 
path, ss 
To guard her fteps, and make her pleas’d 
with life. 
No pleafing cares donow my mind employ; | 
In mournful mufing creep the heavy hours : 
Scenes of paft pleafure, ne’er to’be renew’d, 
By mem’ry’s aid in quick fucceffion rife, 
Whilft all the future wears an afpe& dark. 
Perhaps fhe knows how dear her mem’ry is, 
How in my heart fhe holds her wonted place: 
May heav’n in mercy grant, that when from 
: earth : 
- Pm call’d, we may united be, and know 
Thofe promis’d joys which God referves for 
thofe 
Who truft his word, and ftrive to do his will. 
Ses 

SONNET. 
To the Ean of BREADALBANE. 
PAR from his friends, his home, and native 
Tyne, 
The mould’ring relics of our Fobz/on lie ! 
While tears of fond remembrance fill each 
eye, 
prllmalbine: patron of the arts, be thine 
he envied tafk to rear his humble fhrine, 
Which @ill the penfive trav’ ller may efpy, 
Where limpid Tay meand’ring murmurs by, 
And woods and rocks t adorn his tomb ~ 
combine. | 
The fcene, congenial to his claffic tafe, 
His fhade, appeasd, fhall often hover 
round, 
And as the moonbeam glides along the 
ground, pi 
Review the landfcape which his pencil trac’d s 
And oft, when kindred genius wanders 
near, 
Receive the foothing tributary tear, 

SONNET 
On the Death of Robert Johnfon, Painter and 
Engraver, of Newcaftle-upon- Tyne, who died, 
in the 26th year of bis age, at Kenmore, near 
‘ Laymouth, the feat of the Earl of Breadalbane, 
~— whilf-employed there by bis Lordfhip. ; 
{See Monthly Magazine, vol. 2. p, 54x 
. and $33.) 
VE who enraptur’d yiew, with - {weet 
. delight, 
The faithful femblance of relations dear, 
©r o'er fome friend departed drop the tear, 
Original Poetry. 
By Fobufon {natch’d from death’s oblivious 
night; —. pa hy 
For him who fixt, in glowing colours bright, 
- ‘Thofe {miles that wont the paffing hours to 
cheer, ize kee Pp 
And gave, unchanging ftill from year te 
ear, 
The hen ador’d to blefs your longing fight 5 
O heave the grateful fympathetic figh : 
* But fighs recal not back the filent dead ! 
An aged mother, by his labours fed, 
Looks round in vain, and fees no comfert 
nigh 5 
O, then, refleét his virtues to her viewy 
And be to her what obn/on was to you. - 

ELEGY : 
of a Young Lady, -who died in @ 
frate of lunacy. 
HUSH’D in the filent graye, thy forrow 
fleep ; 
No more in fecret anguifh to repine ! 
And foft humanity no more fhall weep 
To fee the wreck of fuch a2 mind as thine, 
On the death 
Ev’n he who unrelenting faw that mind— 
A father! ftruggle with defpair in vain, 
While reafon’s ruin’d empire fell, confign’d 
¢€ To blank confufion and her crazy train.” 
Ev’n he, barbarian! fhall with callous heart 
No more.difturb the bed of thy repofe ; 
No more fhall try with ev’ry hellifh art 
To lengthen the fad period of thy woes ! 
For now at length thy pains, thy troubles ceafe, 
The gloomy midnight of thy grief is o’er j 
And on thy foul the blifsful morn of peace 
Arifes bright—to be o’ercaft no more. 
And tho’ a little fpace contains full well. 
Thy peerlefs form, with ev’ry beauty bleft, 
Without one ** frail memorial’ to tell 
The pafling trav’ller where thy afhes reft 5 
Yet, tothy mem’ry, many a facred tear 
Shall flow, with many a fympathetic figh 3 
And on foft pity’s heart, to virtue dear 
Thy name fhall be engraven—-ne’er to die! 
Leeds, cs. 
A SONNET, 
Addrefed to Mifs Eliza Coltman, on receiving 
from her a prefent of Mrs. Rowe's Devout 
Exercifes of the Heart, Ge. 
ACRED to virtue be the gifts of fong, 
~ Nor madly let the genuine bard diffufe._. 
The dregs of Circe’s cup, nor dare to wrong 
Meek-ey’d religion !—but may the mufe, 
Proud of her birth, in rapt’rous ftrains afpire, 
To hallow’d themes that breath’d from 
Rowe’s pure lyre; 5 
Or your’s, Eliza! when with fervent zeal 
You fing of tranfports angels only feel 5 — 
And foaring, reach the bright ztherial road, 
Where bymning Seraphs warm devotion 
thew} Th SS oe: . 
on Catch 
