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From hill to hill the rushing hoft pursu'd,
And view'd his banner, or believ'd she view'd.
Pleas'd with the distant roar, with quicker tread
Fast by his hand one lifping boy she led ;
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm
Slept on her 'kerchief, cradled by her arm;
While round her brows bright beams of Honour dart,
And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart.
- Near and more near th' intrepid Beauty press'd,
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest;
Heard the exulting shout, “ They run they tun!"
“ Great God!" she cried, " he's safe ! the battle's won!"
--A ball now hisses through the airy rides,
(Some Fury wing'd it, and some Dæmon guides!)
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck;
The red stream issuing from her azure veins
Dges her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.“

" Ah ine!” me cried, and, sinking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound; “ Oh; cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn! Wait, gushing Life, oh wait my Love's return! “ Hoarfe barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far! " The angel, Piry, shuns the walks of war!“ “ Oh spare, ye war hounds, spare their tender age! « On me, on mè," she cried, “exhaust your rage !" Then with weak arms her weeping babes caress’d, And sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest.

From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes; Eliza's name along the camp

he calls, Eliza echoes through the canvass wails; Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread, O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, Lo! dead Eliza weltering in her blood !-


- Soon hears his liftening fon the welcome sounds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes, he bounds :-
“ Speak low,” he cries, and gives his little hand,
“ ELIZA Beeps upon the dew cold fand ;
“ Poor weeping babe with bloody fingers press'd,
" And tried with pouting lips her milkless breaft!
“ Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake

Why do you weep ?-Mamma will soon awake."
- She'll wake no more !" the hopeless mourner cried,
Upturn'd his eyes, and clasp'd his hands, and figh'd;
Stretch'd on the ground awhile entranc'd he lay,
And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay;
And then upsprung with wild convulfive start,
And all the Father kindled in his heart :

Oh, Heavens!” he cried, “ my first rath vow forgive !

These bind to earth, for these I pray to live !" Round his chill babes he wrapp'd his crimson vest, And clasp'd them fobbing to his aching breaft.


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Like Isaac, with a mind applied
To serious thought at ev'ning-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees that fring'd his hilko
Shades flanting at the close of day
Chill'd more his else delightful way...
Diftant a little mile he spied
A western bank's still funny fide,
And right toward the favour'd place.
Proceeding with his nimbleft pace,
In hope to balk a little yet,
Just reach'd it when the sun was set.

Your Hermit, young and jovial Sirs!:
Learns something from whate'er occurs---
And hence, he said, my mind computes,

The real worth of man's pursuits.
His object chosen, wealth or fame,
Or other sublunary game,
Imagination to his view
Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue.
That can seduce him not to spare
His pow'rs of best exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour to expend
On so desirable an end.
Ere long, approach Life's- evening shades,
The glow that Fancy gave it fades;
And earn'd too late, it wants the grace
Which first engag'd hiin in the chase.

True, answer'd an angelic guide,
Attendant at the senior’s fide-
But whether all the time it cost

the fruitless chase be loft,
Must be decided by the worth
Of that which calls his ardour fortha.
Trifles pursu’d, whate'er th' event,
Must cause him shame or discontent;

A vicioas

A vicious object ftill is worse,
Successful there, he wins a curfe ;
But he, whom ev'n in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well design’d ;
And if, ere he attain bis end,
His sun precipitate descend;
A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous with can bear a date
Either too early or too late. .




The green house is my fümmer feat;
My shrubs displac'd from that retreat,

Enjoy'd the open air;
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,

Liv'd happy pris’ners there.
They fang, as blithe as finches fing,
That flutter loose on golden wing,

And frolic where they lift ;;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,

And, therefore, never miss'd.
But Nature works in ev'ry brealt;
Instinct is never quite suppress’d;

And Dick felt fome desires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires,

The open’d windows seem'd to invite
The freeman to a fatewell flight;

But Tom was still confin'd;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too gen’rous and sincere

To leave his friend behind.

For, fettling on his grated roof,
He chirpd and kiss’d him, giving proof

That he desir'd no more ; Nor would forsake his cage at last, 'Till gently feiz’d, I shut him faft,

A pris'ner as before.

Oh ye, who never know the joys
Of Friendship, fatisfied with noise,

Fandango, ball, and rout!
Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A prison, with a friend, preferr'd

To liberty without.




SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau *,
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable ;

* It was one of the whimsical fpeculations of this philosopher, that all fables which afcribe reason and speech to animals Mould be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of h's fenses !


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