Oh! then how blest!no more to part,
To share his bliss-his love his glory;
Live the proud partner of his heart,"

And tell our boys their father's story.

W.SMYTH.

How bright the sun's declining rays
Glitter on yonder ivied spire!
How sweet the evening zephyr plays

Thro' those old trees that seem on fire!
Beneath those trees how oft I've stray'd
With MARY, rapture in my eyes!
But now,
alas! beneath their shade
All that remains of MARY lies!

Oh! can I e'er the scene forget?

'Twas such an evening-this the place, That first the lovely girl I met,

And gazed upon her angel face. The west at Sol's departure blush'd,

And brighten'd to a crimson hue;
Her cheek with kindred tints was flush'd,
And ah! her sun was sinking too.

She

She died and at that very hour

Hope broke her wand, aud Pleasure fled. Life is a charm has lost its power, acts

Th' enchantress of my days is dead, That sun-those scenes where oft I've stray'd Transported, I no longer prize; For now, alas! beneath their shade All that remains of MARY lies.

J. CONDER.

WHEN gentle CELIA first I knew,
A breast so good, so kind, so true,
Reason and taste approved;
Pleased to indulge so pure a flame,
I call'd it by too soft a name,
And fondly thought I loved.

Till CHLORIS came, with sad surprise
I felt the lightning of her eyes.
Thro' all my senses run;
All glowing with, resistless charms,

She fill'd my breast with new alarms,
I saw, and was undone.

O CELIA!

O CELIA! dear unhappy maid,
Forbear the weakness to upbraid

Which ought your scorn to move:
I know this beauty false and vain,
I know she triumphs in my pain,
Yet still I feel I love.

Thy gentle smiles no more can please,
Nor can thy softest friendship ease
The torments I endure;

Think what that wounded breast must feel
Which truth and kindness cannot heal,
Nor e'en thy pity cure.

Oft shall I curse my iron chain,
And wish again thy milder reign

With long and vain regret ;
All that I can, to thee I give,
And could I still to reason live,
I were thy captive yet.

But passion's wild impetuous sea
Hurries me far from peace and thee,

'T were vain to struggle more:
Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies,
While swelling tides around him rise,
And push his bark from shore.

In

In vain he spreads his helpless arms,
His pitying friends with fond alarms

In vain deplore his state;
Still far, and farther from the coast,
On the high surge his bark is tost,
And foundering yields to fate.

MRS. BARBAULD.

I Love and Reason ne'er agree,
And Virtue tremble at his power,
May Heaven from Love pronounce me free,
And guard me thro' each tender hour!

But if the pleasures Love bestows

Are such as Reason pleased allows, Are such as smiling Virtue knows,

To Love I'll pay my virgin vows.

And such they are: for loose desires
But ill deserve the tender name;
They blast, like lightning's transient fires,
But Love's a pure and constant flame.

и

Love

Love scorns a sordid selfish bliss,
And only for its object lives;
Feels mutual truth endear the kiss,

And tastes no joys but those it gives,

Love's more than language can reveal,

Or thought can reach-tho' thought is free; 'Tis only felt 't is what I feel,

And hope that Damon feels for me.

WHEN first upon your tender cheek
I saw the morn of beauty break

With mild and cheering beam,
I bow'd before your infant shrine,
The cariest sighs you had were mine,
And you my darling theme.

I saw you in that opening morn
For beauty's boundless empire born,

And first confess'd your sway;
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,
I gave my heart away.

I watch'd