Full foon, alas! its glories cease;
It sparkles, glimmers, fades, and dies. O wafte not then thy fleeting hours
In foreign climes and paths unknown;
Return thee to thy happy plains
That bounteous nature made thy own.
For me, nor gold nor princely pow'r,
Nor purple veft, nor ftately dome,
Nor all that trophy'd grandeur boafts,
Shall lure me from my tranquil home.
This ruftic cot and filent fhade
Shall evermore my dwelling be;
E'en when my deftin'd days are spent
I'll reft beneath yon aged tree.
Befide the brook, a simple stone
Shall ferve to guard my cold remains,
And tell the pilgrims, as they pafs,
I dy'd amidst my native plains.
Return then, gentle traveller;
Return thee with the morning ray;
Nor leave again thy lowly vale
For lofty mountains far away.
CENES of my youth! ye once were dear,
Though fadly I your charms furvey;
I once was wont to linger here,
From early dawn to clofing day.
Scenes of my youth! pale forrow flings
A fhade o'er all your beauties now;
And robs the moments of their wings,
That scatter pleafure as they flow;
While ftill to heighten ev'ry care,
Reflection tells me-fuch things were.
'Twas here a tender mother ftrove
To keep my happiness in view;
I fmil'd beneath a parent's love,
Who foft compaffion ever knew;
In whom the virtues all combin'd,
On whom I could with faith rely;
To whom my heart and foul were join'd
By mild affection's primal tie:
Who fmiles in heav'n, exempt from care,
Whilft I remember-fuch things were.
'Twas here, (where calm and tranquil reft
O'erpays the peasant for his toil,)
That firft, in bleffing, I was bleft
With growing friendship's open fmile.
My friend, far diftant, doom'd to roam,
Now braves the fury of the feas;
He fled his peaceful, happy home,
His little fortune to increase:
Whilft bleeds afresh the wound of care,
When I remember-fuch things were.
'Twas here—ev'n in this blooming grove,
I fondly gaz'd on Laura's charms,
Who blushing own'd a mutual love,
And melted in my youthful arms.
Though hard the foul-conflicting ftrife,
Yet fate, the cruel tyrant, bore
Far from my fight the charm of life-
The lovely maid I did adore.
"Twould eafe foul of all its care,
my
Could I forget that—fuch things were.
Here firft I faw the morn appear
Of guilelefs pleafure's fhining day;
I met the dazzling brightnefs here,
Here mark'd the foft declining rayBeheld the skies, whose streaming light Gave fplendour to the parting fun; Now loft in forrow's fable night,
And all their mingled glories gone!
Till death, in pity, end my care,
I must remember-fuch things were.
CHILDREN GATHERING FLOWERS.
OVELY Innocents! what pleasures
Meet you in this happy hour!
Richer far than monarchs' treasures
Seems each vari'gated flow'r.
Oh! that joys fupreme may ever
In each bofom find abode!
And no villain's bafe endeavour
Lead your steps to forrow's road!
Should fome monfter, iron-hearted,
From their home you parents tear;
Heedlefs of each wound that smarted,
Wounds which wives and children bear:
Doom'd awhile, like mine, to languish,
Rapidly your tears would flow;
While the wretch, who caus'd your anguish,
Smiles, infulting, on your woe.
Beauty lives a day, and dies!
Honour lulls us while we live,
Mirth's a cheat, and pleasure flies.
Is there nothing worth our care?
Time, and chance, and death our foes;
If our joys fo fleeting are,
Are we only ty'd to woes?
Let bright Virtue answer,¬no;
Her eternal pow'rs prevail
When honours, riches, ceafe to flow,
And beauty, mirth, and pleasure fail.
WRITTEN ON THE SEA SHORES
N fome rude fragment of the rocky fhore,
Mufing, my folitary feat I take,
And liften to the deep and folemn roar.
O'er the dark waves the winds tempeftuous howl;
The fcreaming fea-bird quits the troubled fea:
But the wild gloomy scene has charms for me,
And fuits the mournful temper of my foul.
Already fhipwreck'd by the ftorms of fate,
Like the poor mariner methinks I ftand,
Caft on a rock; who fees the distant land,
From whence no fuccour comes-or comes too late.
Faint and more faint are heard his feeble cries,
Till, in the mingled tide, th' exhausted suff'rer dies.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN.
whole bofom heaves the
When fancy paints the fcene of deep diftrefs;
Whose tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless.
Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey,
From flow'ry meads, can with that figh compare;
Not dew-drops, glitt'ring in the morning ray,
Seem half fo beauteous as that falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
No blood-ftain'd traces mark thy blameless way,
Beneath thy feet no hapless infect dies.
Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me,
To fpring the partridge from the güileful foc,
From fecret fnares the ftruggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.
And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conqu❜ring gleam,
Let us, flow wand'ring where the current flows,
Save finking flies that float along the stream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy fympathetic gifts impart;
Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a fhare,
And justly boaft the gen'rous feeling heart.
Teach me to footh the helpless orphan's grief,
With timely aid the widow's woes affuage,
To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief,
And be the fure refource of drooping age.
So when the genial spring of life fhall fade,
And finking nature own the dread decay,
Some foul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the close of life's eventful day.
Death came with friendly care;
The op'ning bud to heav'n convey'd,
And bade it bloffom there.
HE Rofe had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
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