- 430 ‘ 
Thus was my feeble judgment led 
By all that Love or look’d or faid. 
‘Thus was my raw, unpratis’d youth 
Deceiv’d by Falfhood, deck’d in truth : 
But when I prov’d that angel-fmile 
The worthlefs covering of guile; 
Oh! when my dark and vaft defpair 
Had found his promifes were air, 
Then did remorfe my befom rend, . 
And clafping Prudence as my friend, 
s¢ Lead on, (Icried,) Tl follow thee.” 
Exeter, April 10, 1806. 
ES 
TO MIRA, 
@N HEARING HER PERFORM ON THE 
HARP.* 
BY J. LYNCH, ESQ. 
WH AT founds divine are thofe I hear ? 
W hat witching notes arreft mine ear ? 
My pulfe beats quick, I heave the figh, 
While rapture thrills thro® ev’ry part, 
A fweet enchantment chains my heart 5—= 
© tell me why ? 
Now I hear the fvren-ftrain 
Jn foft and dulcet notes complain 5 
While tun’d to melody of woe, 
My tears, F know not why, begin to flow ; 
*Till rows’d. while ftrains like thunder roll, 
Heroic ardour fires my foul, 
On high achievements bent, my bofom burns, 
T dart amidit the hoftile roar, 
1 fpur my fteed thro’ fields of gore, 
And my victorious {word the fate of battle 
turns. 
How ble& fhould I proclaim that hour, 
When Mira’s harp, with ftrange controul, 
Diffus’d its fafcinating pow’r 
O’er all my ravith’d fou!— 
If war or pity oaly was the theme, 
My heart would be fecure, I then fhould be 
; the fame. 
Butceafe, Enchastrefs! ceafe the lay, 
© fling that magic harp away ! 
In pity ceafe,—-my breatt is ftung : 
Im loft !rke harp te Love is frung, 
I look impaffion’d to her eye 
Rath boy ! thus madly to afpire, 
My few rifh'frame is all on fire, 
I droop my head and figh. 
Now flatt’ring Hope begins to fpread 
Vifions of blifs around my head ; 
And now thet phantom love-lorn Care 
Paints tthe path of wiid Defpair. 
What thall I do?—-To hope is vain : 
Til tear me from her fatal fight, 
Hide me in fircdes of darkeft nignt, 
And filentiy complain, 
Vil go, Pil fly this very hour,— 
Alas ! my limbs have loft their pow’r, 
Enchanted vy her ftrain ! 
* From Poems about to be publifhed. 
Origh:al Poetry. 
[June 1, 
ANACREONTIC. — 
(COME reach me old Anacreon’s lyre, 
For wint’ry fnows are lowering near, 
And foon fhall chill th’ autumnal fire 
That gleams on life’s declining year. 
Then let me wake the rapturous fhell, 
With cords of fweet remembrance ftrung ; 
While grateful Age delights to tell 
OF joys that glow’d when life was young. 
And, left the languid pulfe forego 
The throb that Fancy’s flight infpires, 
Anacreon’s flowing cup beftow, 
And urge with wine the waning fires. 
_ But temper me the Teian bowl ! 
And chaffen me the Teian fhell ! 
The vifions that in memory roll 
Are fuch as Nature’s bofom fwell. 
Yet, Nature !—thine the votive firing, 
To no polluted ear addreft ; 
That of no blooming boys can fing, 
But boys that hang on Beauty’s breaft. 
Nor lawlefs thro’ the realms of love, 
Where native Venus lightathe way, 
Shall yet excurfive Fancy rove, 
Inebriate with the wanton lay. 
If, while the mantling goblet flows, 
I fing of Beauty’s charms divine ;— 
The breaft that heaves, the cheek that 
- glows, 
And beaming eyes, like ftars that fhine ;—= 
The draft on Memory’s tablet true 
__ That pictures each entrancing grace, 
Without a frown fhall Stella view, 
Or there fome lov’d memorial trace. 
And when with high-enraptur’d air =, 
My lavifh verfe thal] moft commend, 
She'll find her youchful image there, 
Or in each portrait own a friend. 
Then reach me old Anacreon’s lyre, 
And temper me Anacrecn’s bowl ; 
That youthful Joy’s remember’d fire 
May Age’s numbing froft controul. 
J. THELWALL. 
=a 
LINES SPOKEN AT A MEETING HELD ON 
THE 29TH JANUARY, 1806, IN GREEN= 
OCK, TO CELEBRATE THE ANNIVER- 
SARY OF THE BIRTH OF ROBERT 
BURNS, THE SCOTTISH BARD. 
J[LLUSTRIOUS Bard! who now attun’ft 
_ thy iay Z 
With kindred fongfters in eternal day, 
Where ftreams of living light inceffant flow, 
Far, far beyond the reach of human woe,— 
O grantafpark of thy celeftial fire, 
To warm our fancy, and our Mufe infpire, 
While to thy mem’ry here we pour the lay, 
And folemnize with fong thy natal day ; 
Tothy immortal name attempt to raife 
The annual tribute of our willing praife, 
And 
