432 
And matter’s cumbrousfhapings. Y outh beloved 
Of fcience----of the mufe beloved, not here, 
Not in the maze of metaphyfic lore, 
Build thou thy place of refting ! lightly tread 
@he dangerous ground, on noble aims intent; 
And be this Circe of the ftudious ceil, 
Enjoyed, but ftill fubfervient. Active fcenes 
Shall foon with healthful fpirit brace thy mind: 
And fair exertion, for bright farne futtained, - 
For friends, for country, chafe each fpleen- 
‘fed fog 
- That blots the wide creationm- 
- ‘Now heaven cendu@ thee with a parent’s love! 
ee 
SONG. 
"THINK no more, my gentle maid? 
To withhold the promis’d treafure 5 
Can thy tongue delay perfuade, 
While thine eyes perfuade to pheafure ? 
Long, too long, thine arts have ftrove 
>Gainft my love toarm my reafon: 
Pleading youth in bar of love 
Is in Capid’s court a treafon. 
While from day to day I {py 
Some new charm its fweets difclofing, 
Thought prefents to fancy’s eye ; 
What from day to day I’m lofing. 
Shall the budded rofe expand 
On the air its beauties wafting, - 
Cropt by no defiring hand, , 
None its early fragrance tafting ! 
Gentle maid! refign thy fears ; 
Or, if fears thou muft be fetling, 
Dread the filent theft of years, 
Youth, and joy, and beauty ftealing. 
Shield thee, fhield thee, 1n my arms, 
From the fiend all blifs deftroying 5 
- Make me guardian of thy charms; 
Pll fecure them—by enjoying. 
Se 
LOGOGRIPHE. 
| Galas by me Anacreon fung, 
And laugh’d intruding cares awayy , | 
¥n myrtle bowers the lyre he ftrung, 
Clofe fhelter'd from the fervid ray. 
Behead me, and by magic {kill * 
At once appears a wondrous change; 
Wo more a flave, where’er I y ill, 
Wing’d with new life the groves I range. 
In attic fhades, my blefs’d retreat, 
I hail mild Cynthia’s rifing beam ; 
Or feek Minerva’s rocky feat, 
And threatning, from her helmet gleam. 
— But if, fair maid, with timorous hand 
You doubt to do the work of death ; 
Tf unrefolved you lingering ftand, 
Nor take my head to yive nic breath 5 
Fear not to ampetate my tall, 
Spare not the more ignoble part 5 
This operation cannot fail 
To give a proof of fairy art. 
I then no more, infpiring fong, 
Adorn the Teian’s feital board ; 
‘To warlike chiefs I then belong, 
Companion of the murderous fword. 
Original Poetry. — 
7 
4 
{Aprit 
The laurel wreaths which Henry gain’d, 
And Edward’s palms to me are due; 
Thofe wreaths at Creffi blood-beftain’d, 
Where wing’d with fate each arrow flew, 
Yet oft, retir’d from goary war, 
I gladly ferve the god of love; 
And wieldedin the dove-drawn car 
Still, as before, unerring prove. A. A. 
—— ee 
ELEGIAC ODE. 
W HEWN the ftroke of the woodman had 
: ceas’d in the vale, 
And the fweet Philomela had finith’d her fong; 
A fage child of forrow repeated his tale, 
And figh’d to the ftream as it murmur’d 
along. 
‘s T have-feen the glad profpeét which led me 
5 aftray, 
Change its luftre, and fade like the tints of 
the morn 3 ete 
I have feen the meridian fplendor of day, 
But night has fucceeded, and found me for- 
lorn. 
*s ] havz feen, as I pafs’d, how the rofe blufh- 
ing gays 
To the gale of the morning its bofom dif- 
play’d 5 
I return’d,—bfit its beauties had faded away, 
And the pride of the morn e’er the ev’ning 
was dead. 
*¢ J have feen (oh how lovely !) the maid of 
the dale, | ; 
Flufh'd with health and with beauty ti- 
umphantly tread ; - 
But alas! neither beauty nor health could avail, 
For all that was lovely, with Laura is dead. 
<¢ How delufive is hope!—oh how tranfient 
the ftay 
Of the fun-beam that gilds our terreftrial 
icene! 
How fhortisthe pleafure of man’s brighteft day, 
And the blafts of misfortune how piercingly 
keen! 
« How blank is the profpe&t, how gloomy the 
day, ig 
Which is clouded with care, and o’erfha- 
dow’d with woe ; 
How dreary, urfocial, and cheerlefs the way, 
Which the children of forrow muft wander 
below ! ; 
‘¢ Oh! when fhall the pilgrim arrive at his 
home, 
And man to his parent in gladnefs return ; 
Oh ! when fhall our forrows be loft inthe tomb, 
And the wretched forget with the wretched 
to mourn.”’ 
Thus nightly he fang, and the fwains lov’d to 
hear, 
For his accents were gentle and mild as the 
dew ; 
Till they dropp’d o'er his tale of misfortune a 
tear, : 
Anz fhrunk from the world and the picture 
he drew. Pe Fi. F, 
