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When Eve, her dewy far beneath,
And every storm is laid ;
Low whispering through the shade.
MRS. C. SMITH.
Smild on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread, And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,
To weave fantastic garlands for my head : But far, far happier is the lot of those
Who never learn'd her dear delusive art; Which, while it decks the head with many a rose,
Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart. For ftill she bids soft Pity's melting eye
Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove ; Points every pang, and deepens every figh
Of mourning friendship, or unhappy love. Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost, If those paint forrow best-who feel it most!
ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE NIGHT.
Ah ! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on the " night's dull ear." Whether on spring thy wand'ring flights await,
Or whether Glent in our groves you dwell, The penfive muse shall own thee for her mate,
And still protect the song she loves so well. W’ith cautious step, the love-lawn youth fhall glide
Thro' the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest; And shepherd girls, from eyes profane, shall hide · The gentle bird, who sings of pity best; For still thy voice shall soft affections move, And still be dear to sorrow, and to love !
TO THE RIVER ARUN. . Be the proud Thames, of trade the busy mart;
Arun! to thee will other praise belong;
And ever sacred to the fons of song!
Where o'er the rocks the mantling bind with flaunts; And sorrow's drooping form and faded cheek,
Choose on thy willowed shore her lonely haunts ! Banks! which inspir'd thy Otway's plaintive train!
Wilds! whose lorn echoes learn'd the deeper tone Of Collins' powerful shell! yet once again
Another poet Hayley is thine own!
I Love thee, mournful sober-suited night,
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane, And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light,
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main. In deep dépreslion sunk, the enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf, cold elements complain,
And tell the embofom'd grief, however vain, To fullen surges, and the viewless wind. Though no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee-cheerless as thou art ;
For in thy quiet gloom, the exhausted heart Is calm, though wretched; hopeless, yet resign'd: While, to the winds and waves its sorrows given, May reach-cho' loft on earth-the ear of Heaven!
THE ORIGIN OF FLATTERY,
VY HEN Jove, in anger to the fons of earth, Bid artful Vulcan give Pandora birth, And sent the fatal gift, which spread below O'er all the wretched race contagious woe, Unhappy man, by vice and folly toft, Found in the storms of life his quiet lost, While Envy, Avarice, and Ambition, hurl'd Discord and Death around the warring world ; Then the blest peasant left his fields and fold, And barter'd love and peace, for power and gold;
Left his calm cottage, and his native plain,
The fair enchantress on its filver bound, Wreath'd with soft spells her magic ceftus round. Then shaking from her hair ambrosial dew, Infus'd fair hope, and expectation new, And fiAed wilhes, and persuasive fighs, . And fond belief, and “ eloquence of eyes," And fault'ring accents, which explain so well What study'd speeches vainly try to tell, And more pathetic filence, which imparts Infectious tenderness to feeling hearts, Soft tones of pity; fascinating smiles ; And Maia's son assisted her with wiles, And brought gay dreams, fantastic visions brought, And wav'd his wand o’er the reducing draught. Then Zephyr came : To him the goddess cry'd, « Go fetch from Flora all her Aow'ry pride, " To fill my charm, each scented bud that blows, “ And bind my myrtles with her thornless rose : « Then speed thy flight to Gallia's smiling plain, " Where rolls the Loire, the Garonne, and the Seine : “ Dip in their waters thy celestial wing, " And the soft dew to fill my chalice bring; “ But chiefly tell thy Flora, that to me “ She send a bouquet of her fleurs de lis; " That piognant spirit will complete my spell.”
'Tis done : the lovely sorceress says, 'tis well! And now Apollo lends a ray of fire, The cauldron bubbles, and the fames aspire ; The watchful Graces round the circle dance, With arms entwin'd, to mark the work's advance ; And with full quiver sportive Cupid came, Temp'ring his favourite arrows in the flame.