136 
How, how fevere, O Julia, then thy grief, 
Widowed fo young, fo vaft the lofs fuf- 
tained ! 
But in thy children fhalt thou find relief; 
Thefe are thy balm, the pledge of love une 
feigned. 
What felt the fon! how deep his filial groan 
When the laft pang he faw his father feize ! 
Yet w fe beloved, yet offspring are his own ; 
And wife and offspring fhall his wound ap- 
peafe. 
But nought of balm does Heaven to me'affign; 
No folace {weet, with healing influence, 
flows: 
No fmiling infants, bland companion, mine, 
With deeds of love to mitigate my woes. 
Spoufe, fire, companion—he was all to me; 
Though but a friend:—a friend? yet, ah, 
how dear! 
E’en with lefs joy my brother’s face { fee, 
Lefs feels my heart affinity fo near. 
And well my utmoft love did Petre claim, 
Who, rich himfelf, my poverty endowed; 
Twice ten times traced the Sun th’ etherial 
frame, 
While Heaven to me his tender love al- 
lowed : 
*T was mine perpetual—lone as lifé remained; 
Mine, e’en in death, till ceafed his keare 
to beat; 
His foftering hand, my ftudies that fuftained, 
Gave to thofe ftudies recreation fweet. | 
Weep, Mufes! weep—long fighs your bofoms 
fill ! 
Patron of verfe was Petre ever found: 
But chiefly thou, O Mufe of Zion-hill, 
Groan with my groans, and loud our griefs 
refound. 
Who now fhall foothe me as my path I wind, 
Thy footfteps following, through entan- 
gling briars? 
When, faint, at times the tafk I half refigned, 
He cheered my foul, and roufed my latent 
fires. 
When malice grinned, with fang fo oft that 
daunts, 
When bigots, blind, o’erflowed with frantic 
foam, 
«6 Spurn, fpurn,” faid he, ‘*thefe vile op- 
probrious taunts, 
«¢ Care but for this—to clofe th’ important 
tome.” 
Oh that, while Heavenallowed thee yet tobe, 
This utmoft work my utmoft hand had paft 5 
That fate had given to dedicate to thee, 
As my firt labours, fo alike my laft: 
What joy, what rapture had I then revealed ! 
_ This my chief wifh, the fummit of my 
prayer! 
But Heaven denied :—to Heaven our hearts 
fhoulg yield,—~ 
But who, PARI from Weeping can 
forbear ? 
Original Poetry. 
[Sept. 1, 
All muft bewail thee, Petre! all who knew; 
For me, my forrows never fhall fubfide 5 
As the loved image of my friend I view, 
Down my ploughed cheeks how flows the 
briny tide !. 
Deep, trembling fobs convulfe my labouring 
breaft, 
And fecree anguifh every nerve corrodes, 
But reft is thine—fecure, unfullied reft, 
The fongs of angels, and their bright aheles, 
Enjoy, bleft faint! enjoy the fweets that 
flow ! 
Unmingled fweets, whofe fountain ne’er 
fhall fail! 
And, if thy powers can reach to man below, 
O ftoop, benign—let friendfhip ftill pre- 
vail. 
LT ere 
SONNET, TO HOPE, 
(Suggefted by the Perufal of Hucu Trevor, 
vol. ili, chap. 12 ) 
ae Hope! that ftill with fond delufive 
dreams 
Cheer’ft the fad heart, eee Sy with 
grief and care, 
My aaeuind mind longs for thofe healing 
ftreams 
Which flow from thee, and charm beyond 
compare. 
Oh deign to vifit then my lonely cell, 
And breathe thy influence on my wearied 
foul ; 
_Come, pleafing flatterer, and fmiling tell, 
That yet my hours in happinefs fhall roll : 
That Fortune’s copious tide again fhall flow 5 
That friends fhall {mile, and enemies re- 
pent 5 
That as in years I thall in wifdom grow, 
And find each moment crown’d with fweet 
content 5 
Tell me that yet Or1via fhall be mine, 
And let the bleft illufion be divine. 
=e ae 
LINES, 
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND. 
A® ! what avails it that the face of day 
Wears the bright verdure of returning 
fpring? 
On me, alas! it fheds no genial ray— 
No foft fenfations its approaches bring. 
My cherifh’d hopes are wither’d in their 
bloom, 
And expeétation is for ever feal’d5 
My faireft joys have met an early tomb, 
And ali my profpects are alike repeal’d, 
' CO! why fond memory didft thou ever dwell 
On fcenes more fickle than the fhowery 
bow? 
Or why did hope my anxious bofom fwell 
With blifs I never was ordained to know? 
Imagi- 
