SEAT of the MUSES. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. MACAULEY'S URN. Occafioned by the death of that elegant and accomplished Authores, Mrs. ČATHARINE MACAULEY GRAHAM, WHY the plain? HY fighs the blushing plough boy of Why weeps the druid of the lonely cave? Why pipe the lads flow melancholy ftrains? Why mourns the turtle cooing on the grave? Do fongs of joy no more awake the lyre? Where thepherd's is your mufick's fprightly round? [spire ? Can't fmiling fummer one glad note inNor mirth call echo from her hollow ground? Why afks the mufe? these forrows are her own, gloom : Her laughing eyes now beam a funeral She weeps with pity on her moffy ftone; And mourns Macauley in her narrow tomb. E'en there, fair learning, fhalt thy fav'rite name; And drop the tear on her hiftorick page, The foft intruder that embalms her fame. What though proud Albion to her mem'ry raife, [views; Some monument which the pleas'd gazer Yet the low urn, with humble flow'rets grac'd, mufe. Would beft Macauley fuit, and beft the Her mofs form'd grave shall be the lone retreat, For the meek fighing heart of fofteft woes; There contemplation kind shall hold her feat, [rofe. And the white lily pale-and blush the When dufky ev'ning dawns upon his cave, The man of forrow there fhall often ftray; [lay, Whilft from the willow's heard the raven's And fleepy zephyr whifpers to the wave. The ftoick fage fhall vifit at her urn, Though fummer fmile or winter frown fevere ; For there the iron heart shall learn to mourn; And filent fall the philofophick tear. There birds of eve fhall tune their notes to love, On the cold urn the ev'ning long fhall fing; And Philomela's ftrains flow fill the grove, And charm the fylphs who choiceit tributes bring. No ftalking ghoft fhall ever haunt the fhade; No bird of prey, nor owl of hideous fcream, [laid; Shall difmal mark the fpot where the is But plaintive mufick Iwell the moving theme. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. MONIMBA: A TRUE STORY. M° ONIMBA, pride of Afric's plain, The beauty of the burning zone, Was led to Hymen's holy tane, By Zanga, prince of Ebo's throne. Six moons revolving faw them bleft; The feventh, a life commercial band, Lodg'd the cragg'd ball in Zanga's breaft, And fever'd love's united hand. In vain the widow's piteous wail; Nor heard her foul diftreffing cries; Borne paffive on the pinnion'd gale, To diftant climes the mourner hies. There doom'd to rounds of endless toil, Her life was foon to waste away, On curft Port Royal's torrid foil, Amid the fires of blazing day. Her child-the tender babe unborn, Muft fhare its mother's iron fate : Doom'd ere it faw the rifing morn, To horrid flav'ry's death like weight. Monimba, own'd a feeling mind; Oft had the wept at mis'ry's tale; The The tender heart by love refin'd, Deep mufing o'er a world of woes, At once anonounce parturient throes. Rais'd to the deck-fhe ey'd the wave, Plung'd with her babe beneath the flood, And buried in a watry grave, Efcap'd the madd'ning fons of blood. BELINDA. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. ELEGIACK LINE S. In memory of a young Lady, who was killed by a fall from a borje. F ORBEAR, my friend, fince Celia is no more; Why will you thus increafe my pain? Why will you thus rehearle my forrows o'er ? Why will you thus confole in vain ? Deep in the filent tomb my fair one lies, And fpread a luftre o'er her mien, May, And call its beauties from the plain. ly grove, Where the fo oft the dance has led ? Thine the unconquered breast, the conquer ing bow, And prophecy divine! confuming all, Extending. Friend of mortals and immor- hand "Tis the, who now forbids my mufe to rove, THE bright inhabitants of realms above; For Celia's bleft, altho' fhe's dead. GEORGIENSIS. The name of goddeffes of stream or grove; A fhining inftrument each feamstress owns ; Ε TERNAL God, at thy command Thy hand unfeen Guides the world's great machine, Sun, moon, and stars thy glorious will And wheel their orbs around; And own their deftin'd bound. Wake every foul, And praise the eternal king. He fpeaks; the tempefts howl around; The murmuring north wind fweeps the ground; Old ocean foams, the angry billows roar, Dafh on the rocks, in ruin whelm the fhore. He fpeaks again; how bright the scene, 'Tis all a calm; 'tis all ferene. Huft every gale, Sweet peace the fcepter fways; Great are thy works, eternal power, Nor can withstand thy fway; Death fweeps the plains, Pale famine fmites; the bloom of nature dies; [lies. The world's wide empire whelm'd in ruin 575 Joy beams around With glory crown'd Sweet harmony defcends; To this low earth her course the bends, From thining realms above, Becomes a guest In every breaft, And tunes the foul to love. Eternal God, thy glorious name Demands our warmeft praife, While angels fing thy boundleís fame We join our humble lays. Thy hand alone fuftains the world; Thy hand withdrawn, in ruin huri'd The rolling fpheres of nature's glorious frame Vanish, like fparkles, in a general flame. One glance from thee, the world renews; Chaos retires; new heavens arife, Suns blaze again, again expand the fkies; And peace, eternal peace, enfues. ZURICS For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. The UNFORTUNATE FAIR. THE HE fun has funk, the glimm'ring stars appear, [earth. And the pale moon fhines faintly on the Yet, as if grudging me their feeble rays, The only guide my doubtful footsteps have, She's juft immerging in a blacker cloud; From whence no light can come, to cheer my foul. Oh! whither fhall I go! friendless, forlorn, To lure me onward with inviting doors: And half congeal the vital fource of life. exists An object more unfortunate, or more Mifery was my lot.-O my lov'd parents! full Happy, having such a friend, to be the Come then, fweet peace, man's firft, man's laft, best friend! This awful waste of human life reftrain: 'Tis God's own image dyes the crimson'd plain : [trophies rend. Hafte, virgin queen! from war his curfed A. B. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. HORACE, Book I, ODE XXXVIII. of white, Brown olive, copper dark, or ebon ftain, And ev'ry variant dye on nature's coin, Stamp'd with God's image at the mint divine, [fons of Cain. Are own'd for his lov'd offspring--not as Well haft thou done--th' applaufive choreal ftrain, Of myriads yet unborn on Afric's plain, Shall chaunt thy godlike name with fond delight; And as they kneel at bleft religion's fhrine, The figh of gratitude, forever thine, Shall waft one prayer to realms unutterably bright: [ciful, the good, 'Tis this-- Oh fave from death, the merPoor Afric's angel friend--the fcourge of trade in blood." Seat of the Mufes. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. COME! fair Hebe, goddefs come, Bid age recede, bid pain be dumb, Roll back thofe years, when tides of joy, When erft beneath yon rural grove, Of Damon's friendship, Delia's love; 'Twas then content my moments crown'd; G 577 For the MASSACHUSETTS MAGAZINE. DISAPPOINTMENT. LYSANDER, happy paft the common Was warn'd of danger; but too gay to fear, He woo'd the fair Afpafia; he was kind; In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bleft; All who knew, envy'd; yet in envy lov'd; To reembrace, in exftacies, at eve. rives; Untold, the faw it in her fervant's eye. In fuffocating forrow, fhares his tomb. ment, The guilty billows innocently roar ; AUTUM N. -Sylvis Aquilo decuffit bonorem, IS autumn's wane; how mute's the 'TIS grove, How naked ev'ry fpray! No covert yielding to the dove, Erewhile, with verdant foliage crown'd, And how the trees and fhrubs around 'Tis paft their recent honours flown, A moping melancholy broods, Dank |