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For no ambition could I e’er poffefs, 
Like that of Celia’s love, were Celia mine. 
But vain the with !—Refiftlefs foes affail : 
Too well my Celia knows the ftern decree 5 
O’er our pledg’d vows, what obftacles prevail ; 
And will fhe ftill repofe her hope on me ? 
I’ve found thee, Celia, amiable as kind, 
And my warm heart has ever been fincere 5 
I never would delude thy yielding mind, 
Nor caufe, in filence, a repentant tear. 
Yet fometimes, Celia, have 1 heard a figh, 
Too anxious for the gentle breath of love 5 
I've fometimes mark’d a penfive up-caft eye, 
Which feem’d thy fond endearment to re- 
prove. 
If it be fo, I know the fource is purey 
Vl draw th’ infidious poifon from thy breaw : 
And by my abfence will effeét thy cure, 
Reclaim thy bofom to its wonted reft. 
/ Or can’ft thou itil in long fufpentfe confide, 
In patience ev’ry with to change dety 5 
J}! hold thee as my bleffing and my pride, 
Nor ceafe to love thee, Celia, till I die. 
FREDERIC. 
SE 
HANNAH, 
A PLAINTIVE TALE, 
By RozErT SourHey. 
"HE coffin, as Icrofs’d the common lane, 
Came fudden on my view ; it was not here 
\A fight of every day, as in the ftreets 
Of the great city ; and we paus’d and afk’d, 
Who to the grave was going ? it was one, 
A village girl 5 they told us fhe had borne 
An eighteen months ftrange illnefs ; pined away 
With fuch flow waiting as had made the hour 
Of Death moft welcome —To the houfe of | 
mirth 
We held our way, and, with that idle talk 
That paffes o’er the mind and is forgot, 
We wore away the hour, But it was eve 
When homewardly 1 went, and in the air 
Was that cool frefhnefs, that difcolouring fhade 
} That makeS the eye turn inward. Then, I 
heard, 
Over the vale, the heavy toll of death 
Sound flow, and quettion’d of the dead again. 
It was a very plain and fimpie tale : 
She bore, unhufbanded, a mother’s name, 
And he who fhould have cherifh’d her, far off 
Sail’ on the feas, felf-exil’d from his home 5 
For he was poor. Left thus, a-wretched one, 
Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues 
Were bufy with her name. She had one ill 
Heavier, negle¢t, forgetfulnefs from him 
| Whom fhe had lov’d fo dearly. Once he wrote, 
| But only once that drop of comfort came, 
| To mingle with her cup of wretchednels 5 
» And when his parents had fome tidings from 
y him, 
There was no mention of poor Hannan there; 
Or ’twas the cold inquiry, bitterer 
Than filence. So fhe pin’d, and pin’d away, 
And for Herfelf and baby toil’d-and toil’ dy 
Original Poetry. 
289 
Till the funk with very weaknefs. Her old 
mother 
Omitted no kind office, and fhe work*d 
Moft hard, and with hard working, barely 
earn’d f 
Enough to make life ftruggle. Thus fhe lay 
On the fick bed of poverty, fo worn . 
That fhe could make no effort to exprefg 
Affetion for her infant; and the child, 
Whofe lifping love, perhaps, had folac’d her, 
With ftrangeft infantine ingratitude, 
Shunn’d her as one indifferent. She was paft 
That anguifh—for fhe felt her hour draw on 5 
And ’twas her only comfort now to think 
Mae ie grave, ‘Poor girl!’ her mother 
ald, j 
‘¢ Thou haft fuffer’d much |??—=¢ Aye, mother g 
there is none aod 
“¢ Can tell what I have fuffer’d !” the reply’ds 
¢ But I fhall foon be where the weary reft.” 
And the did reft her foon ; for it pleafed Gop 
To take her to his mercy. 
eee 
TO THE FADED VIOLET. 
AH ! me, how foon thy little reign is o’er ! 
That fickly palenefs fpeaks the feafoa 
nigh, © 
When, penfive wandering, I muft deplore , 
Thy faded charms, condemn’d fo foon to dig } 
The tear, unconfcious, trembles in mine eye, 
And flowly down my cheek in filence fteals 5 
But not forthee alone I heave the figh,— 
My eee breaft more poignant anguifls 
eels. 
Alas! my wayward fancy loves to trace 
The fad refemblance to AMANDa’s charms § 
Like thine they blufh’d with unaffuming grace, 
Like thlne, they quickly haften’d to decay 5 
And death, whom allare deftin’d to obey, 
Remorfelefs, fnatch’d her from my circling 
arms, 
ALBOIN, 
- +E 
TO OCTOBER. 
ey early life,’ere yet the ftreaming tear 
‘Of bitter grief had ftain’d my youthfyJ 
cheek— 
Ere yet the marks of care my brow had crofs’d, 
And all my buoyant hopes were wreck’d and 
loft ;—_ 
Thy woodland walks, OcToBER, would 
feek, 
And hail thy mild approach each paffing year 
Now bufy mem’ry wakes at thy return, 
Prefenting fcenes of agonizing woe ; 
Again the tear reprefs’d begins to flow—= 
Again the wrecls of all my hopes I mourn, 
But yet, I hail thy fweetly-focthing powers 5 
Thy faded beauties ftill have charms for me; 
And ftill I wander ’midf&t thy leaf-ftrewn 
bowers, ’ as 
Weil pleas’d with melancholy and with thee. 
ALBOIN, 
