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Illustrated edition.

980. a 154.

Hours of %dleness.

WRITTEN FROM 1802 TO 1807.


COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO In thee I fondly hoped to clasp

A friend, whom death alone could sever;

Till envy, with malignant grasp, Hush's are the winds, and still the evening gloom,

Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb,

True, she has forced thee from my breast, And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat;

There, there thine image still must rest,
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay where once such animation beam'd;

Until that heart shall cease to beat.
The King of Terrors seized her as his prey;

And when the grave restores her dead, Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.

When life again to dust is given,

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head Ob! could that King of Terrors pity feel,

Without thee, where would be my heaven? Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate.

LINES But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars

Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND And weeping angels lead her to those bowers

AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN : BY J. J. ROUSSEAU : Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. FOUNDED ON FACTS.”

"Away, away, your flattering arts And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign,

May now betray some simpler hearts: And, madly, godlike Providence accuse?

And you will smile at their believing, Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain ;

And they shall weep at your deceiving." I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.


TO MISS — Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,

DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;

From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts, Still they call forth my warm affection's tear,

Exist but in imagination
Still in my heart retain their wonted place.

Mere phantoms of thine own creation :
For he who views that witching grace,

That perfect form, that lovely face,

With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,

He never wishes to deceive thee :
LET Folly smile, to view the names
Of thee and me in friendship twined ;

Once in thy polish'd mirror glance,
Yet Virtue will have greater claims

Thou'lt there descry that elegance

Which from our sex demands such praises, To love, than rank with vice combined.

But envy in the other raises :
And though unequal is thy fate,

Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Since title decked my higher birth,

Believe me, only does his duty:
Yet envy not this gaudy state;

Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
Thine is the pride of modest worth,

It is not flattery-'tis truth.
Our souls at least congenial meet,

Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,

Since worth of rank supplies the place.

“Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.”--Lib. iv.

CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease (1) Admiral Parker's daughter.

| Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please ? (2) The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than perhaps any other in the collection ; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the acre of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration,

| By death alone I can avoid your hate.


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