146 
And, his whole foul in Peace poflefs’d, 
Lafh’d War, in its dread glories drefs'd. 
©! Reader, paufe! with awe profound, 
Where Fawcerr fleeps, *tis holy ground ! 
E ei ee 
POOR ISABELLA, | 
BY LAURA SOPHIA TEMPLE. 
KEEN blows the wind—I am naked and 
weary 3 
Over the wide world do I wander forlorn: . 
Pity me, ftrangers, my path it is dreary, 
Full oft? am I wounded by many a thorn, 
The iky for my roof, and a ftone for my pil- 
tow, 
In the damp ftreets do I nightly remain; 
Toft on the tempefts of life’s angry billow, 
Poor Ifabel, furely, has caufe to complain. 
No tongue fpeaks to her in the language of 
feeling ; ; 
No cheek wears the warm:funny grace of 
a imile ; 
Over her bofom the ice of Defpair is faft fteal- 
ing, 
Nought, nought can her foul’s heavy an- 
guith beguile. 
Be hufh’d for a moment, ye blafts of Decem- 
ber, . 
And let the fad prayers of an out-cait arife; 
Let the rich and the happy my forrows re- 
member, 
And banifh the tear from my Inftrelefs eyes. 
Thofe eyes were once fam’d for their fpark- 
hing and beauty ; 
How oft’ have I heard they were bright as 
the fun ; 
But tfabel wander’d from honour and duty, 
She liiten’d, fhe trufted, and, oh! was 
undone. 
Now worn by Difeafe, and the victim of Sor- 
row, 
T cal} apon Death ta siherbe my woe; 
Unknowing what Fate has referv’d for the 
morrow, 
Impatient I wait for the finifhing blow. 
Ye maidens fo rich in the fpring-tide of 
beauty! 
Ch! ye who are lovely, and virtuous as 
fair, 
Gaze, gate on this cheek when ye ’r wand’ring 
from Duty, 
This cheek fo imprefs’d with the fignet of 
Care. 
Nay, doubt not, it once was the throne of 
' the Graces 5 
It once blaz’d with colours as bright as your 
GWD 3 f 
Bot Mis’ry has left there her eloquent traces ; 
The tingings of health and of -virtue are 
flown. 
Now flumb’ring on down, in the manfions of 
Cisne: 
Behold the gay vulture that ruin’d my 
bloom ; 
He fleeps, while thefe fenfes are verging on 
madnefs ; 
But patiencel——-for God fall inradiate : my 
gloom. 
Original Poetry. 
[March 1, 
Ye rains that defcend, and ye thunders that 
mutter, 
Let fall your wild wrath on my fhelterlefs 
head 5 
No figh fhall efcape, no complaint will I 
utter, 
The fpirit of angerand murm’ring is dead, 
This heart feems to warn me its journey is 
ended ; 
The cold gale of Death oer my palfied 
frame ieecpely 
The pulfes of life and of pain feem fufpende 
ed 5 
Slow, flow, through its channels the lag- 
ging blood creeps, 
Oh Father of Mercies! thy hand will receive 
me j 
Thre glories of God on my foul fhall arife; 
And, perchance,” even thofe who refus” a to 
relieve me,’ 
May then drop a tear where poor Habel 
lies. 
- Chelfeay February, 1805. 
VERSES 
CCCASIONED BY THE AUTHOR’S PER= 
CEIVING THE DEVASTATION COMMIT- 
TED AMONGST HIS FLOWERS BY THE 
STORM OF THE PRECEDING NIGHT. 
AF! truft not, my Flowerets, your imma- 
ture charms 
To the fmile that no fweetnefs can eee 5 
For the ray of December too languidly warms 
To infufe the gay vigour of Spring. 
On the bofom of Nature ftill fondly repofe, 
Nor unfold your fine forms to the day, 
Left the wild wing of Eurus, fu!l-pinion’d 
with fnows, 
Sweep, relentlefs, your beauties away. 
So Youth, in the fpring-tide of Hope and 
Defire, 
Every bloffom of Pleafure expands, 
Till Misfortune has quench’d of his ardour 
the fire, 
And wild impulfe no longer commands. 
Thus December around him, with afpedt fo 
B2Y> 
Soften’a airs did fo artfully fling, 
That his breath they miftook for the Zephyrs _ 
of Ma 
Y> 
And his {mile for the {mile of the Spring. 
And fee, the fierce Winds of the Winter, 
tho” late, 
The laft veftize of Beauty deform : ; 
My Hepaticas, fport not fo rafhly with Fate, 
Nor unclofe your blue eyes to the ftorm.  _ 
Nor thou, fimple Primrofe, fo modett and 
pale, 
._Truft the beam that but fmiles to betray 5 
For the ees will rudely thy beauties affail, 
And refign thee to {corn and decay. = 
. But, 
