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(As by the impious thou art feen).
With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming horror's fun'ral cry,
Despair, and fell disease, and ghafily poverty.
Thy form benign, ah goddess, wear,

Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there,

To foften, not to wound my heart. The generous fpark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.

CUPID BENIGHTED. THE fable night had spread around

This nether world a gloom profound; No silver moon nor stars appear The lonely traveller to cheer: The race of man, with toils oppreft, Enjoy'd the balmy sweets of rest! Wher from the heav'nly court of Jove, Descended swift the god of love, (Ah me! I tremble to relate) And loudly thunder'd at my gate. 6 Who's there?” I cried - who breaks my door, “ At this unreasonable hour?” The god, with well-diffembled fighs, And inoan infidious, thus replies: “ Pray ope the door, dear firm'tis I, " A harmless miferable boy : “ Benumb’d with cold and rain, I ftray “ A long, uncomfortable way-“ The winds with bluti’ring horror roar“ 'Tis dismal dark-pray ope the door." Quite unsuspicious of a foe, I liften'd to the tale of woe,

Compassion touch'd my breast, and strait

I struck a light, unbarr'd the gate ; | When lo! a winged boy I fpy'd,

With bow and quiver at his lide :
I wonder'd at his strange attire ;
Then friendly plac'd him near the fire.
My heart was bounteous and benign,
I warm'd his little hands in mine;
Cheer'd him with kind assiduous care,
And wrung the water from his hair.
Soon as the fraudful youth was warm,
“ Let's try,” says he, “ if any harm,
“ Has chanc'd my bow this stormy night;
“ I fear the wet has spoil'd it quite.”
With that he bent the fatal yew,
And to the head an arrow drew;
Loud twang’d the founding string, the dart
Pierc'd through my bosom to my heart :
Then laugh'd amain the wanton boy,
And “Friend,” he cried, " I wish thee joy!
“ Undamag'd is my bow, I see,
* But what a wretch I've made of thee!”


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THOU faucy malapert! away!

Thy name, ah! may I never hear,
Nor blafis malignant, e'er convey

Thy mandate to my Itartled ear;
May winds disperse the found in air,
E’er on the trembling nerve impreft;
(The found that fills with grief the breast,

And gives the heart to dire despair.)
All hateful! may the maid I love renounce thee,
And never, withi averted look, pronounce thee.


Full many a heart, oppress’d with woe,

Has caife to mourn thy baleful pow'rs,
That bid the stream of forrow flow,

Full fast adown in briny show'rs.
For sweetmeats teazing, many a boy,
Struck with the heart-appalling found,
Has weeping roli'd along the ground,

His little bosom dead to joy;
Or fled, to vent the grief that rends his soul,
In some dark corner, or some gloomy hole.

Thou offspring vile of tyrant pride,

Thou lordelt o'er the weak and poor;
Like furly porter, or four mastiff try'd,

Doft spurn the suppliant from the door-
To wand'ring mendicants well known,

Thy dreaded name gives little care;
But finks the wretch, who seeks a gown,

In lowest depths of dark despair.
The pliant courtier, at my lord's levee,
More than the devil, dreads the fight of thee.

In all its gorgon terrors deck'd,
Thy form the trembl

poet scares;
Who long, in spite of cold neglect,

Has worry'd patronage with pray’rs,
The wretched fcribbler low retires,
Dejected, all his wishes crost,
All hopes of future fortune's lost,

And quench'd the muse's ardent fires;
Full well, his lengthen'd face, and hollow cheek,
The poignant anguish of his foul bespeak.

The fighing lover, too, poor wight!

By ihee (hard-cafe!) expell’d from heav'n, Muit quit his dear-lov'd fair one's fight,

And fly, to lonely deserts driv’n: Wild-farting, till he feems to hear, Re-echo'd ʼmidst the gloom profound, The dreadful, hope-destroying found,

All fad vibrating on his ear;

And lonely wand’ring o'er the wild, diftreft,
He ftrays forlorn, and weeping beats his breaft.

Ah! ne'er with rigor ftern oppofe

The gentle wishes of a genial flame,
Nor give, a prey to hopeless woes,

The heart a better meed may claim.
But, when with wild, unbridled force,
Heedless of REASON’s high behest,
Rude passion fways the ardent breast,

Restrain us in our headlong course;
When we, forgetful, cease to act as men,
Step refolute between, and check us then.




NOW the golden morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermil cheek, and whisper soft,

She wooes the tardy spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground;
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,

Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wint’ry trance

The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, letlening from the dazzled fight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:

Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday, nor morrow know;
'Tis man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Siniles on paft misfortune's brow,

Soft reflection's hand can trace;
And o’er the cheek of forrow throw

A melancholy grace: While hope prolongs our happier hour; Or deepest shades, that dimly lower And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day. Still, where rofy pleasure leads,

See a kindred grief pursue;
Behind the steps that misery treads

Approaching comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chaftis’d by fabler tints of woe;
And blended firm, with artful ftrife,
For strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch, that long has tost

On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour loft,

And breathe, and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
Humble quiet builds her cell

Near the course where pleasure flows;
She eyes the clear chrystalline well,
And tastes it as it goes.

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