Page images

And now the letter'd present prest

With awful tremblings to her breast.

Instant the youths pursued their way:
She dar'd not press their further stay.

Faster than time my story goes.

'Tis Fancy's bufiness to suppose

One of our youths in ermin’d state,

Now temp’ral minister of fate.

A culprit to the bar was brought,
Who wonders strange by magic wrought,
Who folks could cure, or keep diseas’d,

By dint of words, whene’er she pleas’d.

“ Herself was once infirm, but still

She seems to lengthen life at will.

Behold, my Lord, the spell; tis here

To touch the cursed scroll I fear.”

« Peace, Sirs, and urge your charge no more,

For thus I quash her magic pow'r ;

(He, (He, smiling, faid) to me she owes

Whate'er of spells and charms she knows;

Woman, behold your guest in me,

Who taught this art, if art it be."


OW fhone o'er heav'n the beams of dawning day,


And mounting larks had sung their matin lay,

When from a wood, with wild irregular hafte,

A female rush'd, and cross'd the trackless waste;

Fair seem'd her form, but frantic was her air;

Her robe, her tresses, torn, betray'd despair.

She started, stopt; her languid eye-balls stream’d
With tears ; and now with sullen anger gleam'd.
Again with wayward step she fought the shade,

Where a deep brook in lonely windings stray’d.


Ś See the Adventurer, No. 77.

Here, on the willowy marge, she paus’d and cry’d,

" Dread Pow'r, if any pow'r in heav'n abide,

“ That deigns to mark what mortals feel below;

“ Take, take thy hated gift, a life of woe.

“ Has heav’n these passions with our souls ally'd,

« Yet bids fad Ruin wait at Error's side ?

« The love of right, a father's constant theme, « Still warms my breast, tho' wrung with guilt and



My grief-worn heart still bows at Virtue's shrine,

“ Still bends my will to Reason's rule divine :

“ Yet, where was Reason's, where was Virtue’s aid?

“ I lov’d, was lov'd; I trusted, was betray'd.

For this my name is toss’d on vulgar tongues, “ My fame all blasted, though unknown my wrongs. “ Friendless I rove; yet heav’n is pleas’d to shed « Its gayeft funshine on the perjur'd head.

« Com

« Complaints how vain! why does this life blood flow?

“Why throbs this pulfe, to wake my heart to woe? “ I go to still this anguish of the breast

« Be Death's cold arms my refuge and my rest.”

“ Ah! stop, (a voice exclaim’d) in ruin brave, « Rafhly you dare the terrors of the grave.”

Instant, a stranger sprung upon her view,

And from the brink her trembling footsteps drew.

« O lady! bow your soul to heav’n’s high will,

• Who scourges human pride with human ill.

“ If Reason, Reason only, were your trust, “ Well might you call man faultless, heav'n unjust ; « If Reason only lent her glimın’ring ray, « Well might the groveling slave of passion stray.

« But heav'n unfolds the steadier beams of grace,

“ And guides, through fin's dark night, our feet to



« Ah !

" Ah ! quench not then its beams in black despair.

“ God hears the heart-felt sigh and humble pray’r. « Oh! come with me, to prove Religion's pow'r,

“ How smiles the faint in mis’ry's saddest hour."

Thus as he spoke, the pious man had led

The mourner to his neat, but humble shed.

[ocr errors]

« Behold, (he cry'd) to pain and grief a prey,

My dearest spouse fast sinking to decay. « Childless, her bury'd offspring she deplores;

[merged small][ocr errors]

« A cancer now her feeble frame devours;

« Too ill our scanty means her wants supply,

« The nurse's care, and physic's aid deny.

" Yet mark, her breast no fretful murmur moves ;

« The Pow'r that wounds her, she adores and loves."

« Oh! teach me, teach me (the fair sceptic cry’d)
« Those healing truths ; be heav'n, and you, my guide;

« Teach

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »