Dost ask how long my vows shall stay, When all that's new is past? How long? my DELIA ! can I say How long my life will last? Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, At least I'll love thee till I die. And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death; That he, who only breathes for you, Must yield that faithful breath ? Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven while here! WILLIAM RICHARDSON. 1774. This gentleman, M. A. and F. R. S. of Edinburgh, and Professor of Humanity in the university of Glasgow, distinguished himself as an Essayist on Shakspeare, so early as 1775. His Poems were published in 1774, and, after passing through successive editions, have lately, together with his plays, been collected into two handsome volumes. As a poet, Mr. Richardson is to be admired for the unaffectedness of his sentiments, the correctness of his imagery, the smoothness of his versification, and the purity and elegance of his language. THE INVITATION. FAIR Lady, leave parade and show, Nor scorn, nor envy harbour here, When smiling morn ariseth gay, When noon-tide scorcheth all the hills, That warble through the green-wood glade. But when the lucid star of eve O Lady! change thy splendid state, The groves invite thee; and our vale, JOHN MOORE. 1778. Poetry sustained a loss, in a gentleman of such distinguished and promising talents. Sir John Moore died Jan. 16, 1780, aged 24 years. His private virtues had endeared him to all his acquaintance. CEASE to blame my melancholy, Yet, these mournful thoughts possessing, That, could Heaven afford relief, ΤΟ If in that breast, so good, so pure, Pity the sorrows I endure, The cause-I must not-dare not tell. The grief that on my quiet preys, That rends my heart, that checks my tongue, I fear will last me all my days, But feel it will not last me long! JOSEPH HOLDEN POTT. 1779. This author, son of Percival Pott, a name celebrated in the annals of surgery, was entered at St. John's College, Cambridge, which he had not quitted in the year 1780. He was afterwards promoted to the Prebendary of Lincoln, and became Archdeacon of St. Alban's. ODE TO THE WIND. SWEET silent Breeze of Noon! to thee Each charm, which you alone may see, Search all that courts, or shuns the eye, Thy breath, thence fraught with balmy power, Yet none like that fair rose shall be, Which dyes her cheek when kiss'd by thee! No tints so fair can show. |