The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
Endears her renovated ray.
What though she leave the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest ?
When she relumes her lovely Light,
We bless the Wanderer of the Night.

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

lorn.

TO THE MUSE.

THO

HO'no bold flights to thee belong;

And tho' thy lays, with conscious fear,
Shrink from Judgment's eye severe,
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my song!
For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ

Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
Gives each pure pleasure keener zest,
And softens Sorrow into pensive Joy.
From thee I learned the wish to bless,
From thee to commune with my heart;
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part,
To laugh with Pity at the crowds, that press
Where Fashion flaunts her robes by Folly spun,
Whose hues gay varying wanton in the sun.

1789.

WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA.

IRTUES and Woes alike too great for man

V

For vain the attempt to realize the plan,

On folly's wings must imitation fly.
With other aim has Fielding here displayed

Each social duty and each social care ;
With just yet vivid coloring portrayed
What
every

wife should be, what many are.
And sure the Parent of a race so sweet
With double pleasure on the page shall dwell,
Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet,
While Reason still with smiles delights to tell
Maternal hope, that her loved Progeny
In all but Sorrows shall Amelias be!

ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT

THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH

WAS INEVITABLE.

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!

my

bosom heave!
Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath;
Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve.
Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind,
Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast,
And Wit to venoin'd Malice oft assigned,
Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest.

Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge the dart ;
Nor on my soul her love to me impress !
For oh I mourn in anguish--and my heart

Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress.
Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease,
For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace !

PAIN.

ONC

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.

O

Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
With western peasants hail the morning ray!
Ah! rather bid the perished pleasures move,
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love !
O’er Disappointment's wintry desert fling
Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring,
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower
She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream!
With faery wand O bid the Maid arise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes ;
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
I came, with Learning's meed not unbestowed;
When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
And met my kiss, and half returned my vow,
O’er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart,
And every nerve confess'd the electric dart.

O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes !
When first the lark high soaring swells his throat,
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note!

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name ! Obey