1807.] 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
THE CUP OF SORROW. 
BY JOHN PENWARNE, ESQ. 
MY father was a lab’ring swain, 
Who toil’d both late and early 5 
His little store of worldly gain 
He earned hard and dearly. 
Said he, ‘© Sweet Kate, my griefs are o’er, 
Nor heed we of to-morrow ; 
And now I hope to taste no more 
My bitter cup of sorrow.” 
But ah! poor man, he liv’d to know 
‘That mortals are short-sighted ; 
His flock was lost in drifting snow, 
And all his crops were blighted. 
He ceas’d to sing the merry glee, 
For he was fore’d to borrow ; 
Paid nature’s debt, and left to me, 
Alas! his cup of sorrow. 
My sweetheart was a soldier lad, 
And rich in health and beauty ; 
A truer heart man never’Had, 
But, call’d by cruel duty; 
Said he, ** My. dear, lay by oat fears, 
Tho’ I must hence to-morrow !” 
He fought, and fell—with bitter tears 
O’erfiow’d my-cup of sorrow. 
Ye village maids, you"ll’see me die, 
For I am broken-hearted; 
But nota wishto live have I, 
Since from my love I’m parted. 
And when in my cold grave I’m la'd, 
As f shall be to-morrow, 
Write on my stone, ‘¢ Here lies a maid 
Who drain’d the cup of sorrow.’ 
ange 
LINES, 
BY EAGLESFIELD SMITH, ESQ. 
WERE my love like the dew-drop 
? That hangs upon the flow’r of May ; 
And IaJittle Zephyr wild, 
About its bonny breast to play : 
| 
~<a 
Does sheici in linear form arraq’d,” 
And varied charm of light and shade, 
Her pictur’a world renew ? 
And joys of long- extinguish’d sense, 
As trom the bursting grave, dispenses 
Rekindling to hie view ? 
How beats my heart, in transport high, 
How swells the moisture of the eye 
The joyful tale to hear! 
While eager flies the corgial lay, 
To meet thee on the verge of day, 
With gratulating tear 
Oh! as the visions round thee roll, 
That cheer’d thy once accustom’d soul 
In daily pomp array’d, 
Say if not, now, with keener zest, 
They glad thy long-benighted breast ? 
Remerging trom the shade ! 
But chief, what joys thy bosom own, 
Newborn to raptures never known, 
While flock thy offspring round ! 
Ot heard—oit felt—but never seen, 
‘Lill now, with beauty’s kindling mien, 
They in thy presence bound ! 
How will the sone poetic Wee 
That, darkling, oer the wondering lyre 
Could guide thy master hand, 
Now, iieline | in a blaze of light, 
Lo bolder raptures urge thy flizht, 
And with thy joys expand! 
Oh friend !—-that I the tear might see 
That streams in silent extasy 
O’er every form belov’d! 
Might hear the murmurs of that tongue, 
When first it pours the grateful song, 
By cordial rapture movw’d! 
But, tho? forbade the tear to see, 
That flows in cordial extasy, 
Cr hear the murmiux’d song 3 
Yet sympathiy’s omniscient art 
In every feeling bears a part 
That warms the circling throng. 
‘he matin’s beam should pierce me through, The father’s joy--the poet’s fire, 
That came to steal its sweets away 5 
And I would die with the dew-drop 
‘That hangs upon the flow’r of May. 
That secon shall wake tay trembling lyre, 
Find in my conscious breast, 
A stving in unison complete, 
A threb, that to thy throb shall beat ;—_= 
— ata 
ODE Blissiul, that thou art blest ! 
J. THELWALL. 
TO EDWARD RUSHTON, OF LIVERPOOL, 
ON HIS RESTORATION TO SIGHT, AF- VERSES, 
ee ae oh aes nae ee ped WRITTEN UPON MR. FOX IN 1764. 
rT eae ae ote ead St set tt} S there a youth whom sense and taste ine 
OPERATIONS PERFORMED BY MR, 
GIBSON, OF MANCHESTER. 
ND does again the orient day 
Pour for my friend the visual ray, 
And yield the vernal scene ? 
Does Nature, in her Iris vest, 
Again delight his bounding breast, 
And wave her robe of green ? 
Montary Mag., No. i60, 
Spire, 
Who feels, with rapture feels the classic 
fire, 
In whose eines bosom the divine, 
The genuine sparks of emulation shine? 
Ie there a youth whose wit and reason move 
No thought, no truth, but what his words 
impreve 5 
Whose 
