But what thy end? When thy black web is spun,
Thy hopes shall waste like snow before the sun;
Like Ignis Fatuus, whose fallacious light,
But for a moment can deceive the sight;
Or the frail Glow-worm beauteous to the eye,
Of him who, nightly wand'ring, passes by.
But its pale blaze, the pompous robe it wears,
Changes its hue when the bright morn appears.

Yet different, still, art thou:-these fill their place Destin'd by Heav'n to enjoy their time and space: Steady to order, these, obedient still,

Obey their Maker, and perform his will.

But thou, degen'rate wretch! hast form'd thy mind Quite the reverse of what just Heav'n design'd; And metamorphos'd in such horrid guise,

Cheated the world with falsehood, fraud, and lies. But truth shall stand when all thy hopes shall fail, And over all thy secret plots prevail.

Heaven's curse will find thee, wheresoe'er thou art, While blest is he, who hates thee from his heart. Truth! thou unerring guide of Heaven's vast plan! The friend of order, and the friend of man ;

Those who possess thee, shall secure remain,

While all attempts without thee, prove in vain.
Thou shalt abide, and hold the balance just

When mountains fall and crumble into dust.

ADDRESS

TO TWO CRIMINALS UNDER SENTENCE OF

DEATH.

Mov'D by compassion to the human race,

Whose heedless steps vain happiness pursue,

This fav'rite hour in sorrow I embrace

To pen these lines I now address to you.

Your sad condition deeply I bemoan,

Not your disgrace do I attempt to scan ;
If you are guilty, let your lives atone
To satisfy the laws of God and man.

Tho' some, disdainful, on your present state,
May heap reproaches with relentless mind,
My friendly wish is to deplore your fate,

And ease your cares with admonition kind.

To your own consciences you must appeal;
These will direct you-nothing is more clear.
If guilty, and that guilt you now conceal,

'Tis known in heav'n tho' you may hide it here.

Is this the case? then let your cries ascend

To Heav'n's high throne for mercy while you stay: Take this, with his best wishes, from a friend,

Who prays that Heav'n may wash your sins away.

In steadfast hope your pardon to obtain,

Let fervent pray'rs employ your latest breath, May Heav'n accept those pray'rs, relieve your pain, And be your succour in the hour of death.

DE ROMFORT'S SOLILOQUY.

(Supposed to be spoken on the day previous to his Execution.)

My days are number'd, and all past but one!
To-morrow's Sun shall finish my career

This side the grave.-Nor do I live to see

His setting beauties in the western sky.—

These eyes must be, at half my journey, clos'd

In the dark shades of death. And thou, my soul !
Shalt, struggling thro' life's thin partition, rise
To view the SON OF GLORY's dazzling beams,

In endless happiness. I leave this world to you,
Ye sons of vice! to wallow in your guilt,
In mad career! But know this sacred truth,
Your sun must shortly set as well as mine.—
For that dread moment may you be prepar❜d.

But if a single tear for my sad fate,

May show your pity to a fellow creature,

A stranger to your language and your land,

Let it be shed, and I am satisfied.

My life I give to expiate my crime.

'Tis all I have, my poverty is such.

Take then this brittle frame, and let it moulder

To feed your soil, far from my native home.

To me it is no use: for I must change

My present mansion for Eternity,

In steadfast hope of happiness and bliss.

WRITTEN IN PRISON.

THE morning, clad in mantle gray,

Invites the eastern Sun to rise,

And ushers forth the blaze of day,
To post his journey through the skies.

With bulky stone and massy bars,

By adverse fortune thus immur'd,

What pensive thoughts, what anxious cares, What sleepless nights have I endur'd!

Come, Sol! with thine enlivening beams, To cheer my downcast, wat'ry eye, Dispel these visionary dreams,

And ease the Pris'ner's mournful sigh.

Tho' Hope, with her enchanting pow'r,
May oft her welcome visits pay,
She scarce can bring one happy hour,
When thus deferr'd from day to day.

Nor midnight, with her sable train,

Nor art, with all its boasted pow'rs,

My busy soul can e'er restrain

From bursting thro' its strongest tow'rs.