Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,
His groan in every sound.
Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd
When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,
Sad sounding in the gale!
Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door-
He's gone! she cry'd; and I shall see
That angel - face no more !
I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side :
From her white arm down sunk her head
She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died.
O F HUM N LIFE.
WHAT is this fleeting life of man?
The scanty measure of a span;
A bubble or a dream;
With sharp corroding cares perplext;
To sin and death itself annex'd:
Ah! melancholy theme!
Behold the infant on the breast,
His little peevish soul opprest
With grief and empty fears.
We read his passions in his eyes,
He spends his breath in sobs and cries,
And bathes himself in tears.
Few years revolv'd, he's sent to school,
Where, taught to think and live by rule,
What discontent he bears!
Whilst book and pen his time employ,
There's none so wretched as a boy,
Nor so involv'd in cares.
Anon, extravagant desires,
Tumultuous thoughts, and am'rous fires,
Within his bosom rage;
These Reason long assays to tame,
By dread of pain, and want,
And tedious wars they wage.
But time at length, like fate, prevails,
Tho' Reason, Jove's great daughter, fails,
And life grows more sedate;
What once he made the total sum
Of all delight, is now become
The object of his ate.
Now happiness is drawn from gold,
And in the shining lists enroll'd
Of honour, wealth, and fame;
For this he toils, for this his days.
Are spent, by this he hopes to raise
A grand immortal name.
But gold has wings, and will not stay,
but feels decay
The fond persuit restrain;
And now beneath the hand of death
He sinks, and yields with grief his breath,
Which yet he drew in vain.
He, he alone, can life possess,
Whom smiling Hope shall deign to bless,
Fair daughter of the skies,
A friend to Virtue's friends alone,
The worlds above are all her own,
And there enjoyment lies.
BY COLLEY CIB BER.
Ọ SAY what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight?
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make,
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe ;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy;
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king
Although a poor blind boy.
HERE liv'd in York, an age ago,
A man whose name was Pimlico :
He lov'd three sisters passing well,
But which the best he could not tell.
These sisters three, divinely fair,
Shew'd Pimlico their tenderest care:
For each was elegantly bred,
And all were much inclin'd to wed;
And all made Pimplico their choice,
And prais'd him with their sweetest voice.
Young Pim, the gallant and the gay,
Like ass divided 'tween the hay,
At last resolv'd to gain his ease,
And choose his wife by eating cheese.
He wrote his card, he seal'd it up,
And said with them that night he'd sup;
Desir'd that there might only be
Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three;
He was resolv'd to crown his life,
And by that means to fix his wife.
The girls were pleas'd at his conceit :
Each dress'd herself divinely neat;
With faces full of peace and plenty,
Blooming with roses, under twenty.
For surely Nancy, Betsy, Sally,
Were sweet as lilies of the valley;
But singly, surely buxom Bet
Was like new hay and mignionet ;
But each surpass'd a poet's fancy,
For that, of truth, was said of Nancy:
And as for Sal, she was à Donna,
As fair as those of old Crotona, (*)
Who to Apelles lent their faces
To make up Madam Helen's graces.
To those the gay divided Pim
Came elegantly smart and trim :
When ev'ry smiling maiden, certain,
Cut of the cheese to try her fortune.
Nancy, at once, not fearing caring
To shew her saving ate the paring;
And Bet, to shew her gen'rous mind,
Cut, and then threw away the rind;
While prudent Sarah, sure to please,
Like a clean maiden, scrap'd the cheese.
(*) Apelles, from five beautiful virgins of Crotona, drew the beautiful Helen.
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