But mourn in vain-his vigorous arm shall fail,
Guilt sink him down, and angry Heav'n prevail ;
No friendly hand to earth his limbs convey,
But dogs and vultures tear the bloated prey!

Yet, ah, fond heart! avert, kind Heaven, the stroke,

My heart denies what trembling lips have spoke.
The varying accents real nature prove,
And only shew how wild a thing is love.

Go, much-lov'd youth! with every blessing crown'd,
And Laura's wishes ever guard thee round.
Me to the filent shades, and sad retreat,
Where love's expiring flames forget their heat,
Death wooes all-powerful: ere he parts the clew,
Once more thy Laura bids her love adieu;
Bids health and affluence every bliss afford,
Bids thee be lov'd, be happy, and ador'd!
In ease, in mirth, glide each glad hour away;
No pain to spot thy fortune's cloudless day;
No figh to fwell, no tear to flow for me!
O grant, Heaven, all!-but grant thee constancy !
Yet from my hand this last address receive;
This last address is all that hand can give.
In vain thy bark with spreading canvas flies,
If these sad lines shall meet thy confcious eyes,
And, taught with winning eloquence to move,
The winds and waters waft the voice of love;
That voice, (O grant what dying lips implore !)
Asks but one tear from thee, and asks no more!

Then world, farewel! farewel life's fond defires,
False flattering hopes, and love's tormenting fires.
Already, Death, before my clofing eyes
Thy airy forms and glimmering shades arife.
Hark! hear I not for me yon passing bell
Toll forth, with frequent pause, it's fullen knell ?
Waits not for me yon fexton on his spade,

Blithe whistling o'er the grave his toil has made?

Say,

Say, why yon hearse with fading flowers is crown'd,
And midnight gales the deep-mouth'd dirge resound
Hail, sister worms! and thou my kindred dust,

Secure to you my weary limbs I trust.

:

Dim burns life's lamp; O Death! thy work compleat,

And give my foul to gain her last retreat.

:

Such as before the birth of Nature sway'd,

Ere springing light the first Great Word obey'd.

Let filence reign; come, Fate, exert thy might

And, Darkness, wrap me in eternal night!

FINE SIGHTS;

OR, THE COUNTESS OF COVENTRY IN ELYSIUM.

:

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCLX.

BY DR. KENRICK.

N the banks of the Styx, as a beautiful ghost,
In resemblance the shade of the Goddess of Love,

Was revolving the days when a countess and toast
She flaunted about in the regions above;

News arriv'd, which foon made all Elysium to ring,
That the Fates a great monarch had fummon'd to rest,.
In calling Old England's late father and king
To a crown of reward in the realms of the bless'd.

My lady was vex'd to be robb'd of th' occafion,
By dying before him so mal-a-propos,
Of seeing his royal young heir's coronation,
And making a party herself in the show.

She therefore in haste skipp'd away to the ferry

• Here, Charon! you're empty; come, take over me;

• I'm resolv'd to go back to the world in your wherry, • The only fine fight I e'er miss'd of, to fee.'

Old Charon most civilly bow'd to my lady;
Stepp'd out of his wherry, and handed her in ;
But finding she wanted a pass, was as ready
Her ladyship roughly to turn out again.

Then skudding away to the court in a hurry,
Direct, for a passport, to Pluto she ran;
And put Madam Proferpine into a flurry,
Who thought she was come to seduce her good man.

Gloomy Dis grimly smil'd at the lady's request,
But more at her whimsical motive and reason;
And, having malignly a mind for a jest,
Represented her fuit as a thing out of season.

• I cannot, said he, lady fair,' with a frown, • Indulge ev'ry ghost in it's wanton defire ;

• But if for their fakes wife or husband come down,

• I then might restore the fond souls they require.

• Since Orpheus, however, in risque of his life,

• Long ago made us stare with his musick and passion,

• Not a foul hath come down, or for husband or wife;

. So that journies of this kind are quite out of fashion.

• Yet, as you're a beauty, the favour I grant ye;

• But wherefore again should you covet on earth,

• To mix with a crowd, that perhaps only want ye • To make you the theme of impertinent mirth ?

• Befides,

• Besides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken,

• If pleasure you promise yourself in the fight; • For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forsaken, • There's none will regard an impalpable sprite.'

• Nay, nay!' quoth the countess, if that be the cafe,

• Take your passport again; I'll have no more chagrin :

A fig for fine fights, if unseen one's fine face!

• What fignifies seeing, if one is not seen!"

THE CONTENTED PHILOSOPHER.

BY THE REV. MR. CUNNINGHAME.

D

EEP filence reign'd, and dewy Night
Her filver vestment wore;
The western gale breath'd calm delight,
And busy day was o'er;

To hail Reflection's hour I rofe,
Each throbbing care at reft;
For facred Peace in mild repose
Had lull'd my anxious breast,

The breezy mount, the misty vale,
Alternately I stray'd;

The Gothick spire, the lonely cell,
My wandering eye survey'd :

Till, where the trembling beams of night
O'er limpid currents play'd,
Meandering-fix'd my roving fight

On deep Retirement's shade.

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The unambitious dome, conceal'd,

Fear'd no intrusive foes;

From deep-embowering trees reveal'd
The feat of calm repose.

'Twas Sophron's grove, an aged fire,
Who, vers'd in Wisdom's lore,

Now tun'd his confecrated lyre,
To clofe the filent hour.

The hallow'd strain inflam'd my breast,
I gain'd the ruftick cell;
The courteous father bless'd his guest,
Then gave th' instructive tale.

How false the aim of erring life!

How fruitless the employ !

That treads the pompous maze of strife, • In quest of folid joy!

The plumy tribes unceasing roam,
• Each verdant bough furvey;
But fix at last their leafy home,
• Where filence wooes their stay:

• Where no alarming hinds invade, • No fear their peace destroys;

• Remote in the sequester'd shade,

• They rear their callow joys.

• Thus restless Nature loves to range,

• Thro' life's gay scenes to rove;

• Till Reason prompts the happier change,

• To Contemplation's grove!

• When