I stood a treacherous loiterer by her chair,
And drew the FATAL SCISSORS from my sleeve:

And would that at that instant o'er my thread The SHEARS OF ATROPOS had open'd then; And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, Had cut me sudden from the sons of men!

Bear me in spirit where the field of fight
Scatters contagion on the tainted gale,
When, to the Moon's faint beam,
On many a carcass shine the dews of night,
And a dead silence stills the vale, [scream.
Save when at times is heard the glutted Raven's

Where some wreck'd army from the Conqueror's Speed their disastrous flight, [might

And hear at times the deep heart-groan
Of some poor sufferer left to die alone;
And we will pause, where, on the wild,
The mother to her breast,

On the heap'd snows reclining, clasps her child,
Not to be pitied now, for both are now at rest.

Black HORROR! speed we to the bed of Death,
Where one who wide and far

Hath sent abroad the myriad plagues of war
Struggles with his last breath;

Then to his wildly-starting eyes

The spectres of the slaughter'd rise;
Then on his frenzied ear

Their calls for vengeance and the Demons' yell
In one heart-maddening chorus swell;
Cold on his brow convulsing stands the dew,
And night eternal darkens on his view.

HORROR! I call thee yet once more!
Bear me to that accursed shore,
Where on the stake the Negro writhes.
Assume thy sacred terrors then! dispense
The gales of Pestilence!

Arouse the oppress'd; teach them to know their

power;

Lead them to vengeance! and in that dread hour
When ruin rages wide,

I will behold and smile by MERCY's side.
Bristol, 1791.

TO CONTEMPLATION.

Καὶ παγᾶς φιλέοιμι τὸν ἐγγύθεν ἦχον ἀκούειν, "Α τέρπει ψοφέοισα τὸν ἄγρικον, οὐχὶ ταράσσει. MOSCHUS.

FAINT gleams the evening radiance through the sky,
The sober twilight dimly darkens round;
In short quick circles the shrill bat flits by,
And the slow vapor curls along the ground.

Now the pleased eye from yon lone cottage sees
On the green mead the smoke long-shadowing play;
The Red-breast on the blossom'd spray
Warbles wild her latest lay;
And lo! the Rooks to yon high-tufted trees
Wing in long files vociferous their way.
Calm CONTEMPLATION, 'tis thy favorite hour!
Come, tranquillizing Power!

To school the little exile goes, Torn from his mother's arms, — What then shall soothe his earliest woes, When novelty hath lost its charms? Condemn'd to suffer through the day

Restraints which no rewards repay, And cares where love has no concern, Hope lengthens as she counts the hours Before his wish'd return.

From hard control and tyrant rules,
The unfeeling discipline of schools,

In thought he loves to roam,
And tears will struggle in his eye
While he remembers with a sigh
The comforts of his home.

Youth comes; the toils and cares of life Torment the restless mind;

Where shall the tired and harass'd heart
Its consolation find?

Then is not Youth, as Fancy tells,
Life's summer prime of joy?
Ah no! for hopes too long delay'd
And feelings blasted or betray'd,

Its fabled bliss destroy;
And Youth remembers with a sigh
The careless days of Infancy.

Maturer Manhood now arrives, And other thoughts come on, But with the baseless hopes of Youth Its generous warmth is gone; Cold, calculating cares succeed, The timid thought, the wary deed, The dull realities of truth; Back on the past he turns his eye, Remembering with an envious sigh

The happy dreams of Youth.

THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.

DACTYLICS.

WEARY way-wanderer, languid and sick at heart, Travelling painfully over the rugged road, [one! Wild-visaged Wanderer! God help thee, wretched

Sorely thy little one drags by thee barefooted; Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back, Meagre, and livid, and screaming for misery.

*Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony, As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe, Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy haggard face.

Ne'er will thy husband return from the war again, Cold is thy heart, and as frozen as Charity! [forter! Cold are thy children.- Now God be thy comBristol, 1795.