• Promife and I will truft thy faithful vow,

(Oft have I try'd, and ever found thee true!) • That to some distant spot thou wilt remove This fatal pledge of haplefs Emma's love, Where, fafe, thy blandishments it may partake; And, oh! be tender, for it's mother's fake. Wilt thou?

"I know thou wilt-fad filence (peaks affent

And, in that pleafing hope, thy Emma dies content!

I, who with more than manly strength have bore

The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,

Suftain the firmnefs of my foul no more,
But fink beneath the weight.

Juft Heav'n,' I cry'd, from Memory's earliest day • No comfort has thy wretched fuppliant known; • Misfortune ftill, with unrelenting fway,

Has claim'd me for her own.

But O-in pity to my grief, reftare

This only fource of blifs; I afk-I ask no more!?
Vain hope!-th' irrevocable doom is pass'd;
E'en now she looks-fhe fighs her laft!

Vainly I ftrive to stay her fleeting breath,

And, with rebellious heart, protest against her death!

When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wifh to tear her from the fkies;
How curfe my fate in bitternefs of woe!
But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead?

ofanow

Fond man, forbear,

Thy fruitless forrow fpare,

Dare not to talk what Heav'n's high will decreed;

In humble rev'rence kifs th' affictive rod,

And proftrate bow to an offended God.

Perhaps kind Heav'n in mercy dealt the blow,
Some faving truth thy roving foul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grov'ling views below,
And point out blifs beyond Misfortune's reach
To fhew that all the flatt'ring schemes of joy,
Which tow'ring Hope fo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can destroy,

And plunge th' exulting maniac in despair.
Then, O! with pious fortitude fuftain
Thy prefent lofs-haply, thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain :

Time fhall adminifter it's wonted balm,

And hush this storm of grief to no unpleafing calm.

Thus the poor bird, by fome difaft'rous fate'
Caught and 'imprifon'd in a lonely cage,
Torn from it's native fields, and dearer mate,
Flutters a while, and fpends it's little rage:
But, finding all it's efforts weak and vain,
No more it pants and rages for the plain;

Moping awhile, in fullen moodi.

Droops the fweet mourner-but, ere long, Prunes it's light wings, and pecks it's food, won

And meditates the fong:

Serenely forrowing, breathes it's piteous cafe,:
And with it's plaintive warblings faddens all the place.

Forgive me Heav'n-yet, yet the tears will flow,
To think how foon my scene of blifs is pass'd

My budding joys juft promifing to blow,

All nipp'd and wither'd by one envious blaft!

1

My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,

Move heavily along;

Where's now the sprightly jeft, the jocund fong

Time creeps unconscious of delight:

How fhall I cheat the tedious day?

And, O-the joyless night!

Where

Where shall I rest my weary head?

How shall I find repose on a fad widow'd bed?

Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart it's former peace restore;
Thy vot'ry, wrapp'd in thy Lethean fhade,
Awhile fhall cease his forrows to deplore:
Haply, when lock'd in Sleep's embrace,
Again I fhall behold my Emma's face;
Again with transport hear

Her voice foft whifpering in my ear
May fteal once more a balmy kifs,
And tafte, at least, of vifionary bliss.

But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my fhadowy fchemes of blifs depofe,
Will tear the dear illufion from my fight,
And wake me to the fenfe of all my woes!
If to the verdant fields I stray,

Alas! what pleasures now can these convey?
Her lovely form purfues where'er I go,
And darkens all the fcene with woe.
By Nature's lavish bounties chear'd no more,
Sorrowing I rove

Thro' valley, grot, and grove;

Nought can their beauties or my loss restore:
No herb, no plant,, can med'cine my difeafe,"
And my fad fighs
fad fighs are borne on ev'ry paffing breeze.

Sickness and forrow hov'ring round my bed,

Who now with anxious hafte fhall bring relief, With lenient hand fupport my drooping head, Affwage my pains, and mitigate my grief?

Laudanum.

Should

Should worldly bufinefs call away,

Who now thall in my abfence fondly mourn,
Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bofom difcompofe,
Who now with fweet complacent air,
Shall fmooth the rugged brow of Care,
And foften all my woes?

Too faithful Mem'ry-Ceafe, O ceafe-
How fhall I e'er regain my peace?

(O, to forget her!)-but how vain each art, Whilst ev'ry virtue lives imprinted on my heart!

And thou, my little cherub, left behind

To hear a father's plaints, to fhare his woes,
When Reason's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy fweet lifping tongue fhall afk the caufe;
How oft with forrow fhall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace
Thy mother's fmile upon thy face?
How oft to my full heart fhalt thou restore
Sad mem❜ry of my joys-ah, now no more!
By bleffings once enjoy'd, now more diftrefs'd,
More beggar by the riches once poffefs'd.
My little darling!--dearer to me grown
By all the tears thou'ft caus'd-(O ftrange to hear!)
Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier:
Who now shall seek with fond delight,

Thy infant fteps to guide aright?

She, who with doating eyes would gaze

On all thy little artless ways,

By all thy foft endearments blefs'd,

And clafp thee oft with transport to her breaft,
Alas! is gone-Yet fhalt thou prove

A father's dearest, tendereft love.

And,

And, O fweet fenfelefs fmiler (envy'd fate!)
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,
When years thy judgment shall mature,
And Reason fhews thofe ills it cannot cure,
Wilt thou, a father's grief t' affwage,

For virtue prove the phoenix of the earth?
(Like her, thy mother dy'd to give thee birth)
And be the comfort of my age!

When fick and languishing I lie,

Wilt thou my Enima's wonted care fupply?.

And oft, as to thy lift'ning ear

Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,
Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,

Whilft on the mournful theme I dwell?
Then, fondly ftealing to thy father's fide,
Whene'er thou feeft the fofs diftrefs,
Which I would vainly feek to hide,

Say, wilt thou ftrive to make it lefs?

To foothe my forrows all thy cares employ,

And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy?

EVENING ADDRESS TO A NIGHTINGALE.

SWEE

BY THE SAME.

WEET bird! that kindly perching near,
Pour'ft thy plaints melodious in mine ear;
Not, like bafe worldlings, tutor'd to forego
The melancholy haunts of Woe;

Thanks for thy forrow-foothing strain:
For, furely, thou haft known to prove,
Like me, the pangs of hapless love,

Elfe why fo feelingly complain,

And with thy piteous notes thus fadden all the grove?

Say,