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First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.
Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire;
In lightnings own'd his secret stings.
In one rude clash he struck the lyre—
And swept, with hurry'd hands, the strings.
With woful measures, wan Despair
Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd; A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
"Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild.
But thou O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure!
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on echo still through all her song ;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden
And longer had she sung-but, with a frown
Revenge impatient rose.
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,
The war denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast, so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo;
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat,
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side,
Her soul subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mein ; While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting from his head,
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ;
Sad proof of thy distressful state.
Of differing the the veering song was mix'd: And, now, it courted Love; now, raving call'd on Hate..
With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,.
Pale Melancholy sat retir❜d ;
And from her wild sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ::
And, dashing soft, from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound.
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, (Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inpiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd
Satyrs, and sylvan Boys, were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green ::
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,.
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; ; But, soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,. Amid the festal-sounding shades,
To some unweary'd minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fastic round,
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound)
And he, amid his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings..
A Tea Party.
WHEN the party commences, all starch'd and all
They talk of the weather, their corns, or sit mum : They will tell you of ribbons, of cambric, of lace, How cheap they were sold-and will tell you the
They discourse of their colds, and they hem and they cough,
And complain of their servants to pass the time off.
But TEA, that enlivener of wit and of soul,
More loquacious by far than the draughts of the bowl,
Soon loosens the tongue and enlivens the mind,
And enlightens their eyes to the faults of mankind.
It brings on the tapis their neighbor's defects,
The faults of their friends, or their wilful neglects;
Reminds them of many a good-natur❜d tale
About those who are stylish and those who are frail,
Till the sweet temper'd dames are converted by tea,
In harmless chit chat an acquaintance they roast,
And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast.
Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake,
Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relish'd as cake:
A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust,
It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first
With a little affected good nature, and cry
Nobody regrets the thing deeper than I.
Ah ladies, and was it by Heaven design'd
That ye should be merciful, loving, and kind!
Did it form you like angels and send you below,
To prophecy peace-to bid charity flow!
And have you thus left your primeval estate,
And wander so widely-so strangely of late?
Alas! the sad cause I too plainly can see,
These evils have all come upon you thro" Tea.
Cursed weed, that can make our fair spirits resign
The character mild of their mission divine,
That can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true,
Which from female to female forever is due.
Oh how nice is the texture, how fragile the frame
Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame !
'Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath,
And shrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death.
How often, how often, has innocence sigh'd,
Has beauty been reft of its honor, its pride,
Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light,
Been painted as dark as a demon of night;
All offer'd up victims-an auto de fe,
At the gloomy cabals, the dark orgies of tea.
If I, in the remnant that's left me of life,
Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife,
Let me fall, I implore, in the slang-wanger's claw,
Where the evil is open, and subject to law.
Not nibbled and mumbled, and put to the rack,
By the sly undermining of tea party clack:
Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting,
But spare me ! oh spare me, a tea-table toasting!
The Three Black Crows, or the Progress of Untruth.
TWO honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
Hark-ye, said he, 'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!-I don't know what it is,
Reply'd his friend-No! I'm surpris'd at that
Where I come from, it is the common chat :
But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows..
Impossible !-Nay, but it's really true;
I have it from good hands, and so may you
From whose, I pray? so having nam'd the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.
Sir, did you tell-relating the affair-
Yes, Sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me ;
But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows, not three.-
Resolv'd to trace so wond'rous an event,
Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went.
Sir, and so forth-Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the case-
Where may I find him-Why, in such a place..
Away goes he, and having found him out,.
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt-
Then to his last informant he referr'd,.
And begg'd to know, if true what he had heard ;·
Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow ?—Not I!—
Bless me! how people propagate a lie!
Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;.
And here I find all comes at last to none !
Did you say nothing of a crow at all?
Crow-Crow-perhaps I might; now I recall
The matter over-And pray, Sir, what was't?-
Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Something that was as black, Sir, as a crow..