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And art thou dead thou much-lov'd youth ?

And didst thou die for me? Then farewel home! for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

fault away.

But first upon my

true-love's

grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay. Yet ftay, fair Lady, reft a-while

Beneath this cloyster wall: See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,

And drizzly rain doth fall.
O stay me not, thou holy Friar!

Ostay me not I pray!
No drizzly rain that falls on me
Can wash

my
Yet ftay, fair Lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly tears ; Fur fee, beneath this gown of

gray Thy own true-love appears. Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,

There holy weeds I sought; And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought. But haply, for my year of grace

Is not yet pass'd away, Might I till hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay.

Now farewel grief, and welcome joy,

Once more unto my heart: For fince I have found thee, lovely youtli,

We never more fhall part.

A TALE.

BY WILLIAM MELMOTH, ESQ.

ERE Saturn's fons were yet disgracid,

And heathen gods were all the taste, Full oft (we read) 'twas Jove's high will To take an air on Ida's hill. It chanc'd, as once with serious ken He view'd from thence the ways of ren, He saw (and pity touch'd his breast) The world by three foul fiends polsest : Pale Discord there, and Folly vain, With haggard Vice, upheld their reign. Then forth he sent his summons high, And callid a senate of the sky. Round as the winged orders prest, Jove thus his sacred mind exprest : “ Say, which of all this thining train " Will Virtue's conflict hard sustain ? “ For see, the drooping takes her flight, " While not a god supports her right."

He pausdwhen from amidst the sky,
Wit, Innocence, and Harmony,
With one united zeal arose,
The triple tyrants to oppose.
That inftant from the realms of day,
With generous speed, they took their way:
To Britain's ille direct their car,
And enter'd with the evening (tar.

Beside the road a mansion stood, Defended by a circling wood: Hither, disguis'd, their steps they bend, In hopes, perchance, to find a friend : Nor vain their hope, for records say, Worth ne'er from thence was turn'd away, They urge the travöller's common chances And every piteous plea advance : The artful tale that Wit had feign'd, Admittance easy foon obtain'd.

The dame, who own'd, adorn'd the place ; Three blooming daughters added grace. The first, with gentlest manners blest, And temper sweet, each heart possest; Who view'd her, catch'd the tender flame : And foft Amalia was her name: In sprightly sense and polith'd air, What maid with Mira might compare : While Lucia's eyes and Lucia's lyre Did unresisted love inspire.

· Imagine now the table clear, And mirth in every face appear :

The fong, the tale, the jest went round,

The riddle dark, the trick profound, Thus each admiring and admir'd, The host and guests at length retir'd; When Wit thus spake her sister train :

"Faith, friends, our errand is but vain" Quick let us measure back the sky; “ These nymphs alone may well fupply, “ Wit, Innocence, and Harmony.

AN INVITATION

TO

THE FEATHERED RACE.

BY THE REV. MR. GRAVES.

AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,

Fresh verdure decks the grove, Each bird with vernal rapture glows,

And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,

And shun the noon-tide heat; My shrubs a cooling fhade fupply,

My groves a safe retreat,

Here freely hop from spray to spray,

Or weave the 'mossy nest;
Here rove and fing the live long day

At night here sweetly ret.

Amidit this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,

And revel in the Shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E’er shows his ruddy face,
Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,

In this fequefter'd place.

Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,

Secure the Linnet sings,
The Goldfinch dreads no llimy snares

To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel ! ah, quit thy haunt,

Yon distant woods among,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt

Thy sweetly plaintive fong.

Let not the harmless Redbreast fear,

Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here,

With one that loves his home. My trees for

you, ye artless tribe, Shall store of fruit preserve; Oh, let me thus your friend thip bribe !

Come, feed without reserve.

M

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