то RUIN. I. ALL hail! inexorable lord! At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, The ministers of grief and pain, I see each aimed dart; Then low'ring, and pouring, The storm no more I dread; Tho' thick'ning and black'ning, Round my devoted head. II. And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr❜d, My weary heart its throbbings cease, No fear more, no tear more, ΤΟ ΤΟ MISS L-, WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS As a New Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787. AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driv❜n, No gifts have I from Indian coasts I send you more than India boasts In Edwin's simple tale. Our |