grace;

HERE sleeps what once was beauty, once was
[bin'd
Grace, that with tenderness and sense com-
To form that harmony of soul and face,
Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind.
Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth,
In virgin innocence, in nature's pride,
Blest with each art that owes its charms to
truth,

Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died. He weeps; O venerate the holy tear !

Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God.

Lo! where this silent marble weeps, A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps; A heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell. Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity, were there. In agony, in death resign'd, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant image, here below, Sits smiling on a father's woe: Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along the lonely vale of days? A pang to secret sorrow dear; A sigh, an unavailing tear, Till time shall ev'ry grief remove, With life, with mem'ry, and with love.

But when, retir'd amidst their rural bow'rs, She cheers th' illustrious patriot's calmer hours; Or, smiling, sits her infant tribe among, And guides to virtue's paths the list ning throng:

Behold, amidst these pleasing cares of life, The tender mother, and th' engaging wife! More just applause these humbler virtues share, And Portia shines, as good as she is fair.

An Incident in High Life.

THE Bucks had din'd, and deep in council sat;

Their wine was brilliant-but their wit grew flat:

Up starts his Lordship, to the window flies, And lo! "A race! a race!" in rapture cries. "Where?" quoth Sir John. "Why, see! two drops of rain

Start from the summit of the crystal pane:
A thousand pounds, which drop with nimblest
force

Performs its current down the slippery course!"
The bets were fix'd; the dire suspense they wait
For victory pendant on the nod of fate.
Now down the sash, unconscious of the prize,
The bubbles roll-like pearls from Chloe's eyes.

But ah! the glittering joys of life are short!How oft two jostling steeds have spoil'd the sport!

Lo! thus attraction, by coercive laws,
Th' approaching drops into one bubble draws.
Each curs'd his fate, that thus their project
How hard their lot, who neither won nor lost !
cross'd;

THE old Egyptians hid their wit
In hieroglyphic dress,
To give men pains in search of it,
And please themselves with guess.
Moderns, to hit the self-same path,
And exercise their parts,
Place figures in a room at Bath:
Forgive them, God of arts!
Newton, if I can judge aright,
All Wisdom does express;

His knowledge gives mankind delight,
Adds to their happiness.
Pope is the emblem of true Wit,
The sunshine of the mind;
Read o'er his works in search of it,
You'll endless pleasure find.

Made up of wrong and right; Sometimes a king, sometimes an ass, Now blunt, and now polite.

The picture placed the busts between,
Wisdom and Wit are little seen,
Adds to the thought much strength;
But Folly's at full length.

grew,

And tapping was now the last thing he could do. He began to consider-so sent for his son. Affairs at this crisis, and doctors come down, Tom, see by what courses I've shorten'd my life, I'm leaving the world ere I'm forty and five; More than probable 'tis, that in twenty-four hours

This manor, this house, and estate, will be yours;

My early excesses may teach you this truth, That 'tis working for death to drink hard in one's youth.

Says Tom (who's a lad of a generous spirit, And not like young rakes, who're in haste to inherit)

Sir, don't be dishearten'd; although it be true, Th' operation is painful, and hazardous too, 'Tis no more than what many a man has gone through.

And then, as for years, you may yet be call'd

EPIGRAMS from MARTIAL.

To James Harris, Esq.

MARTIAL, Book iv. Ep. 87. WOULDST thou, by Attic taste improv'd, By all be read, by all be lov'd,

An Epitaph to the Memory of Lucy Lyttelton. MADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes;

Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho' witty, wise; Polite as all her life in courts had been, Yet good as she the world had never seen; The noble fire of an exalted mind, With gentle female tenderness combin'd; Her speech was the melodious voice of love; Her song the warbling of the vernal grove; Her eloquence was sweeter than her song, Soft as her heart, and as her reason strong; Her form each beauty of her mind express'd; Her mind was virtue by the graces dress'd.

cere:

Ours be the lenient, not unpleasing tear!

O! born to bloom, then sink beneath the storm,

To show us Virtue in her fairest form;
To show us artless Reason's moral reign,
What boastful Science arrogates in vain;
Th' obedient passions, knowing each their part,
Calm light the head, and harmony the heart!

Yes, we must follow soon, will glad obey, When a few suns have roll'd their cares away; Tir'd with vain life, will close the willing eye; 'Tis the great birthright of mankind to die. Blest be the bark that wafts us to the shore Where death-divided friends shall part no