With fruitless love this heart fhall cease to burn;
Life's empty dream fhall never more return.
Think not, that labouring to fubdue your hate,
My artful foul forebodes a fancy'd fate;
For ere yon fun defcends his western way,
Cold fhall I lie, a lifelefs lump of clay!

Tir'd of my long encounters with disdain,
Peaceful my pulfe, and ebbing from it's pain;
Each vital movement finking to decay,
And my spent foul juft languishing away;
Ere my last breath yet hovers to depart,
I prompt my hand to pour out all my heart:
The hand, oft rais'd compaffion to implore;
The heart, that burns with flighted fires no more!
Relentlefs nymph! of Nature's faireft frame,
Unpitying foul, and woman but in name ;
Angelick bloom, the coldeft heart to win,
Without allurement, but difdain within;
Regard the founds which feal my parting breath,
Ere the vain murmurs fhall be hush'd in death;
Let Pity view what Love difdain'd to fave,
And mourn a wretch fent headlong to the grave.
Profufe of all an anxious lover's care,

To urge his fuit, and win the lift'ning fair;
Try'd ev'ry purpose to relieve my woe,

My foul chides not, for innocent I
go;
Save when foft Pity bids my gentler mind
Shrink at your fate, and drop a tear behind.
How oft and fruitless have I ftrove to move
Unfeeling Beauty with the pangs of love!
As rose your breast with captivating grace,
And heighten'd charms flew blushing to your face;
Infulting charms! that gave a fiercer wound,
Fond as I lay, and proftrate on the ground.

Heav'ns! with what fcorn you ftrove my fuit to meet,

Frown'd with your eyes, and fpurn'd me with your feet!

To:

To bleeding love fuch hard returns you gave,
As barbarous rocks that dash the preffing wave.
O could your looks have turn'd my hapless fate,
And frown'd my fhort-liv'd paffion into hate;
Then had no scattering breeze my forrow's known,
Nor vale refponfive had prolong'd the moan;
Then had those lips ne'er learn'd their woeful tale,
Nor Death yet cloath'd them in eternal pale!

Oft to the woods in frantick rage I flew,
To cool my bofom with the falling dew;
Oft, in fad accents, figh'd each prompting ill,
And taught wild oaks to pity and to feel;
Till, with despair, my heart rekindled burns,
And all the anguish of my foul returns.

Then, reftlefs, to the fragrant meads I hie,
Death in my face, diftraction in my eye;
There, as reclin'd, along the verdant plain,
My grief renews her heart-wrung ftrains again:
Lo! pitying Phoebus finks, with forrow pale,
And mournful Night defcends upon the tale!

When tir'd, at length, my wrongs no more complain,

And fighs are stified in obtuser pain;

When the deep fountains of my eyes are spent,

And fiercer anguish finks to discontent;
Slow I return, and, proftrate on my bed,
Bid the foft pillow lull my heavy head.,
But, oh! when downy fleep it's court renews,
And fhades the foul with vifionary views,
Illufive dreams, to fan my flumb'ring fire,
And wake the fever of intense defire,
Present your softer image to my fight,

All warm with fmiles, and glowing with delight;
Gods! with what blifs I view thy darling charms,
And strive to clasp thee melting in my arms !-
But, ah! the fhade my empty grasp deceives;
And as it flits, and my fond foul bereaves,

The

The tranfient flumbers flip their airy chain,
And give me back to all my woes again :
There, wrapt in floods of grief, I figh forlorn,
The conftant greetings of unwelcome morn.
But fhould Oblivion re-affume her sway,
And flumbers once more fteal my woes away;
When the short flights of Fancy intervene,
Your much-lov'd image fills out ev'ry scene.
But now no more foft fmiles your face adorn,
Lo! o'er each feature broods deftructive scorn.
Suppliant in tears I urge my fuit again,

Sullen you ftand, and view me with difdain;
Your ears exclude the ftory of my smart,"
Your baleful eyes dart anguish to my heart.
I wake-glad Nature hails returning day;
And the wild fongfters chaunt their mattin-lays-
The fun in glory mounts the chrystal ský
And all creation is in fmilės-but I:

Then fink in death, my fenfes for in vain

You ftrive to quench the phrenzy of your pain.

Break, break, fond heart!-her hate thou canst not tame;

Then take this certain triumph o'er thy flame.''
'Tis done!—the dread of future wrongs is pafs'd
Lo! brittle paffion verges to it's laft!

'Tis done!-vain life's illufive fcenes are o'er-
Difdainful Beauty fhakes her chains no more.
Come, peaceful gloom, expand thy downy breaft,
And foothe, O foothe me to eternal reft! . .
There hufh my plaints, and gently lull my woes,
Where one ftill ftream of dull oblivion flows.

No labouring breast there heaves with Torture's throes,
No heart confumes her daily hoard of woes;

No dreams of former pain the foul invade;

Calmly fhe fleeps, a fad unthinking fhade!

But ere from thought my ftruggling foul is free, One latest tear fhe dedicates to thee.

She

She views thee on the brink of vain despair,
Beat thy big breaft, and rend thy flowing hair;
Feels torturing Love her fable deluge roll,
Weigh down thy fenfes, and o'erbear thy foul.
In vain your heart relents, in vain you weep,
No lover wakes from his eternal fleep.
Alas! I fee thy frantick spirit rave,

And thy last breath expiring on my grave.
Is this the fortune of thofe high-priz'd charms?
Ah! fpare them for some worthier lover's arms.
And may thefe bodings ne'er with truth agree!
May grief and anguifh be unknown to thee!
May bitter Memory ne'er recount with pain,
That e'er you frown'd, or I admir'd in vain !

No more my fpirit is, prepar'd to fly;
Supprefs'd my voice, and stiffen'd is my eye:
Death's fwimming fhadows intercept my view;
Vain world, and thou, relentless nymph, adieu!

IN

The warrior Cræfus held fupreme command:

Vaft was his wealth, for conquest swell'd his store;

Nor what enrich'd the prince, had left the people poor.
Two fons he had, alike in outward mien,

The tender pledges of a dying queen:

But, fpeechiefs, one ne'er taught his fire to melt
With lifping eloquence, by parents felt;

And mimick art in vain expedients fought

To form the tongue, and free th' imprifon'd thought.
Yet blooming Atys well that lofs supply'd;

Atys, the people's hope, and monarch's pride:
His beauteous foul thro' ev'ry feature glow'd;
And from his lips fuch foft perfuafion flow'd,
As Nature had witheld the brother's share,
Only to pour a double portion there.

But vain those graces; fince, conceal'd from view,
They droop in fhades, and wither where they grew.
For one dread night, when o'er the weary king
The drowsy god had ftretch'd his leaden wing,
He feem'd, he knew not where, in wars engag'd,
And whilft around the doubtful battle rag'd,
Saw from fome hoftile hand unerring part
A fatal fpear, which pierc'd his Atys' heart.
He starts, he wakes—'tis night and filence all!
Yet, fcarce confirm'd, he ftill beholds him fall;
Still bleeds in Fancy's eye the gaping wound,
On Fancy's ear the dying groans refound.
Again he fleeps; the fame fad scenes return-
Reftless he rolls, and waits the ling'ring morn.

What can he do? or how prevent a doom,
Which Heav'n foretels, and Fate has faid fhall come?
And yet, perhaps, the gods thefe dreams infpire,
⚫ To fave the guiltless fon, and warn the fire.
Too fond of arms I wander'd far aftray,

• While Youth and blind Ambition led the way;
And ravag'd countries may at length demand
This bleeding facrifice at Crofus' hand.
Then hear me, gods propitious, while I fwear,
Peace, only peace, fhall be my
future care.
O would your pow'rs but fave my darling boy,

• No more this breaft fhall glow, this arm deftroy!

. Nor