[By the Same Hand.]
Own, victorious maid, thy potent charms!
They on my paffions all defenceless seize!
If e're the Mufes did thy fancy please,
Protect their vot'ry from love's fatal harms,
For poëly his breaft with rapture warms;
In deathlefs fong thy merit fhall be known;
To nations yet unborn thy beauty fhewn :
O! footh his heart which pants with folt alarms.
Pierce not a bird fubmiflive to thy pow'r,
Aid him to 'fcape the fhafts of Cupid's ire,
And lead him far from love's enchanted bow'r,
So fhall the Nine his grateful verse inspire,
Immortal fame they'll give thee as thy dow'r,
For teaching him to temper fierce defire.
SONNET to the MUSES.
[By the Same.]
Eductive poefy! I renounce your aid!
Sincerely fick no fuccour you impart,
Pernicious foftner of the manly heart!
With fuch addrefs your poifon is convey'd,
With fuch addrefs your boafted help difplay'd,
That griev'd I urge the Mufes to depart,
For oh! I feel fierce love's envenom'd dart,
Again the Syrens do almoft perfuade!
Alas! they foster ills they cannot cure,
Augment my paffion and my reafon blind,
They promife love's elyfium fhall endure:
They promife Julia will ere long be kind
Mufes farewell! your aid but works me wrong,
Gold wins the fair! few heed the poet's fong.
Dark thoughts, that fright the nymph Hilarity,
Unmeet affociate for adverfity!
The path fcarce trod, the midnight hour I choose,
Life's lift of ills and follies to furvey,
Behold weak man in queft of trifles toil, See Prieftcraft all its mummery display And Superftition Reafon's empire foil,
But men's foul crimes, fuch horrors do convey
I ftart appall'd and from myself recoil.
NOME melancholy for I court thee still !
As erft come mutt'ring with a downcast eye
Regardless of yon fplendid vernal sky!
Come! and of anguifh let me take my fill,
Seize my whole bofom, there in fecier kill!
Far from the haunts of men with thee I'd fly,
Mature my grief, and when refolv'd to die,
Fell Suicide, obfequious to thy will,
Shall hafte with tagg'ring ftep, and haggard look,
Her bowl well drugg'd, her dagger drench in blood,
She all impetuous no delay can brook,
But hurries on the deed in defp'rate mood;
To horrid acts woe-haunted minds are driv❜n,
A wounded spirit needs the care of heav'n.
LINES written by MARY Queen of Scors, on the lofs of her Husband FRANCIS II. of FRANCE, with an English Translation.
[From ANDREW's Anecdotes, &c.]
N melting firains that fweetly flow,
Emonen fort Lamentable, I Tun'd to the plaintive notes og he ED'un
Je jette un œil tranchant,
De perte imcomparable,
Et en foupirs cuifans
Paffe mes meilleurs ans.
Fut-il un tel malheur,
De dure Destinée,
Ny fi tritte douleur
De dame fortunée,
My eyes furvey fraught,
A lofs beyond the reach of thought:
While pafs away life's faireft years
In heaving fighs and mournful tears.
Did cruel Destiny e'er shed
Such horror on a wretched head è
Did e'er once happy woman know
So fad a fcene of heart-felt woe?
Qui mon cœur & mon oeil Vois en bierre & cercueil ?
Qui, en mon dou pritemns,
Er fleur de ma jeuneffe,
Toutes les peines fens
D'une extrême trifteffe,
Et en rien n'ay plaifir,
Qu'en regret & defir.
Ce qui m'eftoit plaifant
Ores m'eft peine dure,
Le jour le plus luifant
M'eft nuit noire & obfcure,
Et n'est rien fi exquis,
Qui de moy foit requis.
J'y au cœur, & à l'oeil,
Un portrait & image,
Qui figure mon deuil ;
Et mon pafle vifage,
De violettes tein',
Qui eft l'amoureux teint.
Pour mon mal eftranger,
Je ne m'arrefte en place;
Mais, j'en ay beau changer,
Si ma douleur j'efface;
Car mon pis & mon mieux,
Sont mes plus deferts lieux.
Si en quelque fejour,
Soit en bois ou en prée,
Soit pour l'aube de jour;
Ou feit pour la vefprée,
Sans ceffe mon cœur fent
Le
regret d'un abfent.
Si fois vers ces lieux, par
Viens a dreffer ma veüe, Le doux trait de ces yeux, Je vois en une nüe ; Soudain je vois en l'eau. Comme dans un tombeau.
Si je fuis en repos,
Somm-illant fur ma couche,
l'oye qu'il me tient propos,
Je le fens qu'il me touche:
For ah! behold on yonder bier
All that my heart and eyes held dear.
Alas! even in my blooming hours,
Mid opening youth's refplendent flowers,
I'm doom'd each cruel pang to fhare,
Th' extremeft forrows of despair,
Nor other joy nor blifs can prove
Than griet and disappointed love.
The fweet delights of happier days,
New anguish in my bofom raife,
Of fhining day, the pureft light
To me is drear and gloomy night;
Nor is there aught fo good and fair,
As now to claim my flightest care.
In my
full heart and streaming eyes,
Portray'd by woe, an image lies,
Which fable robes but faintly speak,
Or the pale languor of my cheek,
Pale as the vi'let's faded leaf,
The tint of love's despairing grief.
Perplex'd by this unwonted pain,
No place my fteps can long detain,
Yet change of fcene no comfort gives,
Where forrow's form for ever lies.
My worft, my happieft, ftate of mind,
In folitude alone, I find.
If chance my liftless footsteps leads
Thro' fhady groves, or flowery meads,
Whether at dawn of rifing day,
Or hient evening's fetting ray,
Each grief that abfence can impart,
Inceffaut rends my tortur'd heart.
If to the heavens, in rapturous trance,
I haply throw a willful glance,
His vifionary form I fee,
Pictor'd in orient clouds; to me,
Sudden it flies, and he appears,
Drown'd in a watʼry tomb of tears.
Awhile if balmy flumbers fpread,
Their downy pinions o'er my head,
I touch his hand in shadowy dreams,
His voice to foothe my fancy feems.
O 2
Et labeur, en recoy,
Tousjours eft prest de moy.
Je ne vois autre objet,
Pour beau qu'il te préfente
A qui que foit fubjet
Oncques mon cœur confente,
Exempt de perfection,
A cette affliction.
Mets, Chanfon, icy fin,
A fi trifte complainte,
Dont fera le refrein
Amour vraye & non feinte
Pour la féparation,
N'aura diminution.
When wak'd by toil, or lull'd by rest,
His image ever fills my breast.
No other object meets my fight,
Howe'er in robes of beauty dight,
Which to my fad defpairing heart,
One tranfient wifh will e'er impart;
Exempt from that unalter'd woe,
Which this fad breast must ever know.
But ceafe my fong-Ceafe to complain!
And clofe the fadly plaintive strain,
To which, no artificial tears,
But love unfeign'd the burthen bears.
Nor can my forrows e'er decrease,
For ah! his abfence ne'er can cease.
Medallions made by Mr. WEDGEWOOD, of
Clay, brought from Sydney Cove, and prefented to him by Sir
JOSEPH BANKS.
HERE Sydney Cove her lucid bofom fwells,
Courts her young navies, and the storm repels;
High on a rock, amid the troubled air,
HOPE ftood fublime, and wav'd her golden hair;
Calm'd with her rofy fmile the toffing deep,
And with sweet accents charm'd the winds to fleep;
To each wild plain fhe stretch'd her fnowy hand,
High waving wood, and fea-encircled strand.
"Hear me (fhe cried) ye riling realms! record
Time's opening fcenes, and truth's unerring word.-
There fhall broad freets their frately walls extend,
The circus widen, and the crefcent bend:
There raised from cities o'er the cultur'd land,
Shall bright canals, and folid roads expand.-
There the proud arch, coloffus-like, beftride
Yon glitt'ring ftreams, and bound the chafing tide;
Embellish'd villas crown the landscape-fcene,
Farms wave with gold, and orchards blush between.-
There fhall tall fpires, and dome-capp'd towers afcend,
And piers and quays their maffy ftructures blend;
While with each breeze approaching veffels glide,
And northern treasures dance on ev'ry tide !"
Then ceased the nymph-tumultuous echoes roar
And JOYS's loud voice was heard from fhore to fhore
Her graceful steps, defcending, prefs'd the plain,
And PEACE, and ART, and LABOUR joined her train.
SONNET to MAY, from the Second Part of the BOTANIC
[From STANFIELD's Guinea Voyage.]
N the thiek gloom of yonder penfive fhade
Is loft Abyeda's wretched form display'd,
Abyeda, once among the vocal throng
The theme and miftrefs of each rural fong:
Once the blithe leader of each feftive scene,
That woke the mufic of the joyous green.
Ne'er did fuch nymph before her brightness lave
Within Formofa's deep, tranflucent wave.
O'er her smooth form grace threw her waving line,
And beauty wandered in the rich defign.
Unrival'd long had liv'd the happy maid;
And many a hero had her love effay'd.
But youthful Quam'no was the virgin's pride;
Her friend, protector, and her faithful guide.
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