« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
15. His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercast:
Before the northern blast.
The parents now, with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed;
And fruitless sorrow shed.
Sweet Mercy yet can move,
What they must ever love!"
18. She came; his cold hand softly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear; Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.
19. But, oh! his sister's jealous care
(A cruel sister she) Forbade what Enima came to say:
My Edwin! live for mc."
20, Now homeward as she hopeless wept
The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lovers funeral song.
22. Alone, appall’d, thus had she pass'd
The visionary valeWhen, lo! the death-bell smote her ear,
Sad-sounding in the gale!
23. Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's doorHe's gone!" she cry'd;
" and I shall sec That angel-face no more!
24. " I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side--" From her wbite arm down sunk her head;
She shivering, sigh’d, and died.
BY MISS CARTER.
The midnight moon serenely snuiles
O'er nature's soft repose,
Nor ruffling tempest blows.
Now ev'ry passion sinks to rest,
The throbbing heart lies still;
Distract the lab'ring will.
In silence hush'd, to Reason's voice
Attends each mental pow'r;
Reflection's fav’rite hour.
Come; while the peaceful scene invites,
Let's search this ample round;
Of Happiness be found?
Does it amidst the frolic nuirth
Of gay assemblies dwell?
That shades the hermit's cell?
How oft the laughing brow of joy
A sick’ning heart conceals! And through the cloister's deep recess
Invading sorrow steals.
In vain through beauty, fortune, wit,
The fugitive we trace;
That brightens Clodio's face.
Perhaps the joy to these deny’d,
The heart in friendship finds: Ah! dear delusion, gay conceit
Of visionary minds.
Howe'er our varying notions rove,
Yet all agree in one,
At distance from our own.
O blind to each indulgent aim
Of pow'r, supremely wise, Who fancy Happiness in aught
The band of Heav'n denies!
Vain are alike the joys we seek,
And vain what we possess, Unless harmonious Reason tunes
The passions into peace.
To temper'd wishes, just desires,
Is Happiness confin’d,
The music of the mind.
WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT,
BY THE SAME.
Ler coward Guilt, with pallid Fear,
To shelt'ring caverns fly,
That thunders through the sky.
Protected by that Hand, whose law
The threat'ning storms obey, Intrepid Virtue seniles secure,
As in the blaze of day.
In the thick cloud's tremendous gloom
The lightning's lurid glare,
That breathes the vernal air.