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The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
SONNET. ON THE SAME.
AREWELL parental scenes ! a sad farewell!
To you my grateful heart still fondly clings, Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnished wings Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell. Adieu, adieu ! ye much loved cloisters pale ! Ah! would those happy days return again, When 'neath your arches, free from every stain, I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale ! Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang, Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet, Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang, As when ere while, my weeping childhood, torn By early sorrow from my native seat, Mingled its tears with hers—my widowed Parent
TO THE MUSE.
HO'no bold flights to thee belong;
And tho' thy lays, with conscious fear,
Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA.
IRTUES and Woes alike too great for man
For vain the attempt to realize the plan,
On folly's wings must imitation fly.
Each social duty and each social care ;
wife should be, what many are.
ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT
THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH
THE tear which mourned a brother's fate scarce
dryPain after pain, and woe succeeding woeIs my
heart destined for another blow? O my sweet sister! and must thou too die? Ah! how has Disappointment poured the tear O'er infant Hope destroyed by early frost ! How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear! Scarce had I loved you, ere I mourned you lost; Say, is this hollow eye—this artless pain Fated to rove thro' Life's wide cheerless plainNor father, brother, sister meets its kenMy woes, my joys unshared ! Ah! long ere then On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved ;Better to die, than live and not be loved !
ON SEEING A YOUTH
AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER.
TOO a sister had! too cruel death!
Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge the dart ;
Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress.
NCE could the Morn's first beams, the health
ful breeze, All nature charm, and gay was every
hour :But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of pain seem waving through each limbAh what can all Life's gilded scenes avail ? I view the crowd, whom youth and health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, Then sigh and think—I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse’s lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chased away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbbed anguish thro' the night!
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds
explore ! Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name ! Obey