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When Life's warm fountains feel the frost of time,
When the cold dews of darkness close their eyes, She shows the parting soul uprais'd sublime,
The brighter glories of her kindred skies.
Thus the pale moon whose pure celestial light
Has chased the gloomy clouds of heaven away, Rests her white cheek with silver radiance bright
On the soft bosom of the western sea,
Lost in the glowing wave her radiance dies,
Yet while she sinks she points her ling'ring ray To the bright azure of the orient skies,
To the fair dawning of the glorious day.
Like the tumultuous billows of the sea
Succeed the generations of mankind, Some in oblivious silence pass away
And leave no vestige of their lives behind.
Others, like those proud waves which beat the shore
A loud and momentary murmur raise,
No future ages echo with their praise.
Like yon proud rocks amidst the sea of time
Superior scorning all the billow's rage, The living Sons of Genius stand sublime,
The immortal children of another age.
For those exist whose pure etherial minds
Imbibing portions of celestial day,
As bright-eyed Eagles scorn the lunar ray.
Theirs is the glory of a lasting name
The meed of Genius and her living fires, Theirs is the laurel of eternal fame,
And theirs the sweetness of the Muses lyres.
D. 1795. Tbe EBB TIDE.
Slowly thy flowing tide
Behold the gentle rise.
With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long
Between thy winding shores.
Now down thine ebbing tide The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along, The solitary helms-man sits to guide
And sings an idle song.
Now o'er the rocks, that lay
Thro' wider-spreading shores.
Avon ! I gaze and know
So rapidly decay.
Kingdoms that long have stood And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood
Ebb to their ruin fast.
So tardily appears The course of time to manhood's envied stage, Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years
Then hasten to old age !
By JOSEPH COTTLE.
Regardless of the boisterous scene,
On the cold and rocky shore ; The wretched Ellen sate serene,
Nor heard the troubled Ocean's roar. She look'd upon the evening star,
And whilst the waves approach'd, she cried, « Oh Edward ! Edward ! why so far
“ From me, thy sad and plighted bride." She look'd upon the twilight ray
That linger'd in the western sky, And cried, “ Oh Edward! wherefore, say,
« That Ellen thus should sit and sigh “ Dost thou now thy promise rue ? * Art thou false as I am true?