See Phoebus ascending his glory reveals,

On the green-wave gay dances his glitt'ring ray, And hark how the merry bells ring out their peals; Why ling❜rest thou here? Come away, come away!"

Begone, thou false Siren! thou charm'st me no more;
In vain thy soft accents to me are address'd;
Thou canst not the peace of this bosom restore,
Nor lull the dark storms of misfortune to rest.
Too long have thy visions deluded my sight,

Too long have thy flatteries poison'd my ear;
But fled is each sun-beam of transient delight,
And now all thy arts and thy falshoods appear.

When life's glowing landscape first smil'd on my view, And each throb of this heart beat to Joy's lively

strain:

When Content o'er my path her mild drapery threw,
And unfelt was the turbulent empire of Pain;
Then gladly my mind thy sweet nectar receiv'd,
And careless I wander'd on Fancy's light wing;
Too fondly was each blooming fiction believ'd,
Which told me that life would be always a spring.

Still, still the wide prospect all lovely appear'd,
The flow'rs were unfaded, the skies were serene,
And still the gay structure of Fancy I rear'd,

Still, still, in bright colours the future was seen. Ah! treacherous calm, that so soon was to cease! Wild phantoms, vain thoughts, that laid Reason asleep :

Full short was the sun-shine, and transient the peace, And those too, Enchantress, soon left me to weep.

Then seek not, deceiver, to tempt me anew,

Or to dupe the sad heart thou already hast wreck'd; Not for me does the spring its soft violets strew, Not for me are the woodlands with verdure bedeck'd!

The smiles of the morning I welcome no more,

For gone is the season when beauty could please ; In vain may the warblers their melody pour,

And unfelt is the breath of the wantoning breeze.

And thou too, bright orb! what hast thou to bestow ? Canst thou give to my eyes the lov'd forms they have lost?

Can thy radiance disperse the thick low'rings of woe? Can it thaw the stern rigour of Fate's bitter frost ? And youth too, that oft-boasted period of joy,

When life's mantling current mounts high in each

vein,

What, alas! can its lively emotions supply,

When all those emotions are waken’d by pain?

Oh shades of the past that successively rise!
Pale spectres of joys that forever are fled !
At whose mournful presence gay happiness dies,
My footsteps who follow wherever I tread :
"Tis ye that my soul of all rapture beguile;

Ye fade the luxuriance of summer's soft bloom; Ye dim the fair lustre of morn's sunny smile,

And from the gay throng call my mind to the tomb.

When day's golden lamp has descended to rest,

And is lord of the wild blushing landscape no more; When the veil of the evening steals slow o'er the west, And the night breeze, awaking, blows fresh on the shore:

"Tis then that I wander to welcome its sighs,

And to muse o'er the slumber of Nature's soft

charms;

More lovely this twilight than noon's vivid dies;
How soothing the silence no tumult alarms!

But what are those accents I hear in the breeze?

And what is that pale form, which weeping I view ? Where now is the power of each beauty to please? Where now the repose which my sad bosom knew? Wherever I gaze, the dear features appear,

In the world's busy haunts, or the dark lonely grove;

When the sighs of the low breeze of evening I hear, I hear too the sweet warbling notes of my love.

Fly, fly, then, Remembrance, where Happiness reigns; O visit some sky more unclouded than mine: Reside in the breast where no canker remains, Where the broad beams of pleasure unceasingly shine :

So shall thy approach be with rapture beheld, And there may'st thou spread thy gay page to the sight,

And I taste those blessings thy presence withheld, While Hope's dear illusions still, still may delight,

NEWARK, JAN 10, 1803,

ELEGY.

Twas sweet as violet-breathing gale, "Twas soothing as the moon's faint beam, 'Twas tender as the ring-dove's tale,— -Alas! and was it but a dream ?

Methought I saw him once again,
Again I listen'd to his voice;
It calm'd the tumults of my brain,
It made my throbbing heart rejoice.

O! with what eager, keen delight

I trac'd a form distinct and clear, That cheated my enraptured sight, With the blest thought that he was near.

Love still was weeping in his eyes,
As first the little traitor stole,
Conceal'd in Pity's soft disguise,
To pierce and agonize my soul.

Upon his cheek the lingering tear

Told me in absence he was true;

And that pale cheek was far more dear

Than had it glow'd with Joy's bright hue.

His glistening eyes long fix'd on me,
A thousand tender hopes impart;
For such the looks 'twas heaven to see,
When first he sought and won my heart.

Methought they bade my sorrows cease,
And charm'd despondence from my breast;
Methought they promis'd joy and peace,
And for a moment I was blest.

But ah! too soon I wake and weep!
Too soon the hated morning beam
Dispels the phantasies of sleep!-
Alas! and was it but a dream!

N. S. S. L.

ZEPHYR AND THE STORM,

BY THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.

THE laughing Zephyr thus the Storm addrest: "Relent, fierce foe, and calm thy angry breast; "On every breath bewitching odours bring,

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Whisper voluptuous secrets to the Spring,

"Kiss the soft rose, amidst the lilies play,

"And hail the dawn, and greet the close of day"Like me be blest." "Like thee!" the tempest said; "My pride is havoc, and my joy is dread! "With blasts of terror I infect the air, "Destroy the hamlet, and the village tear! "Begone, fond Hope, at my approach begone, "Unalterable Nature drives me on.'