—— 
570 
~ 
For her, who. rescues thousands from the 
tomb, 
Preserving health, and beauty” Ss roseate ion 
For her w “ho soothes a mother’s dread alarms, 
Lest her own darling, ravish’d ‘rom ber arms, 
Food for the fell Minotaur should supply, 
And, as a victim to the monster, die. 
— 
VERSES, 
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S GREENHOUSE. 
GS WEET daughters of the purple spring, 
How pleas” “4 your tender forms 1 hail, 
Who load with baim the zephyr’s wing, 
Whose’ vivid tints the eyes regale. 
At early morn and evening hour, 
“Lo, Marian all your wants attends 5 
Enjoys of innotence the bow’r, 
And sits amid her blooming ‘riends. 
Yet ah! not long ye yield delight; 
Your fragrant breath must cease to flowy 
These leaves, alas! no longer bright, 
Must croud the sullen earth below. 
Yet she, whose kindly fostering care, 
“Admits the breeze and genial ray, 
Shall be at length no longer fair, 
Who makes the gloomiest circles gay. 
Ey’n she on whom the Graces wait, 
Whose mien displays a rural bloom 3 
Shall feel th’ asperity of fate, 
And sink at last into the tomb! 
Where all the virtues oft will sigh 
A tribute due to Marian’s, shade, 
s€ Alas !-that such a mind should die, 
What pity such a form should fade !”* 
—S aa 
UTILITY AND DELIGHT OF MUSIC, IN 
‘SOLITUDE, FROM ‘* MUSIC,” A DIDAC- 
Tic POEM, BY JOHN BELFOUR, Ese 
"PHINS not ye rich, ye vain! by fortune 
great, 
That Music quits her sphere, abjures her 
state, 
When she from towers magnificent removes, 
To dwell-*mid desert wastes ‘and hapless 
STOVES 5 
Flies from the dome Of supercilious pride, 
In lowly roofs and sheep-cots to reside ; 
Or climbs with labour hard the rocky steep, 
To lull the fisher in his hut to sleep. 
Think her nat base, because, with open breast 
She soothes the wretched, charms e’en guilt 
to rest ; 
And, dictating to all her various strains, 
Bids men allay their sorruws and their pains! 
She, child. of Nature, with unbounded hand, 
Pours her collected blessings o’er the land; 
. And, like the summer shower that swells the 
ficod, 
Glads every heart, and teems with human 
good. 
What but rude sengs could smooth the 
plough-boy’s toil, , 
The care-worn shepherd’s lingering hours 
Pie i wee 
DEZULE § 
Original Poetry. 
{July 1, 
As onthe turf reclin’d from day to day 
He tends his flock, o’er flow’ry meads that 
stray ? 
To what resource more sweet can sailors fly, 
Whea snows descend, and lightnings rend 
the sky ; 
Compell’d though night the anxious watch te 
keep, 
As darts the vessel o’er the boundless deep ? 
To what, the angler for relief incline, 
As down the cliff he casts his baited line ; 
For hours his patience and his skill to shew, 
And lure the finny race that swarm below ? 
In merry songs that every scene embrace, 
The sportsman sees renewd the sounding 
chace ; 
And, whistling as o’er distant lands they 
stray, 
Less seems the craftsman’s toil, the traveller's 
Way 5 
Nay to the exile, driv’n from his home, 
Te’ slaves condemn’d in ‘chains to work or 
roam 3 
Tocaptives coom’d the minutes to consume, 
By hunger wan, in some sad prison’s gloom, 
Masic, blest pow’r, a balsam can supply, 
Each groan suppress, and glad oa tear-swoln 
eye. 
EE 
CEPHALUS ET PROCRIS, 
FROM OVID’s METAM. Vit. 805. 
SOON as the mountains glow with breaking 
15; 42¥5 
Strong for the chace to woods I bend my. way 5 
Nor friends, nor horses, wait o my command, 
The mystic weapon only fills my hand! 
Fatigued with slaughter to the shades I run, 
And rest protected from the scorching svn 5 
There ’rapt tn pleasing visions court repose, 
Cool’d by the breeze that thio’ the valley - 
blows ; 
And rudely as I lay upon the ground, 
And wood the gentle wind that whisper’d 
round ; 
Wasting a vacant hour, I feign’d to court 
The cooling uir, and sang in idle sport: 
«© Come, gentle breeze, and move to please 
my ear, 
Come, gentle Aura, to the hunter dear ; 
Haste where I lie, these spreading boughs 
beneath, 
Assuage my heat and in my bosom breathe.” 
And as my truant fancy shap’d the strain, 
Perhaps I sang ‘* Sweet Aura, come again ! 
To catch thy whispers, hither have I stray’d, 
And lov’d‘for thee the solitary shade 5 
My joy, my solace, thee alone I séek, 
Soothe my faint sense, and pant upon my 
cheek 1” 
Some woodman lurking in the forest hears 
The name of Aura, source ci all my tears 5 
A pymph he imag’d in a sound so sweet, 
Who met my love within the green retreat. 
My gentle Procris all the tale beliew’d, 
Wept for the crime, by Aura’s name deceiv’d; 
My guilt the soft endearments seem to prove, 
For ah, how weak, how credulous islove! 
She 
~ 
