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The bully dire: whofe front the furies fwell,
And fears dishoneft,mark the son of hell-
In vain! she shrinks to fhun his luckless pace,
Aw'd by the terrors of his vengeful face;
To scenes Tartarean, fee! the wretches hie,
Where drench'd in vice, they rave-they rot-or die.
Heav'n! how unlike the pure, the tranquil fcene,
Where rural mirth, and rural manners reign;
Where fimple cheer difclaims the cares of wealth,
And fresh'ning gales diffufe the glow of health;
Where undisturb'd, unenvy'd, unconfin'd,
Calm Reason rules each moment of the mind;
Where mock'd Ambition feeks her laft retreat,
And proves the world a bubble or a cheat.

Thro' clam'rous ftreets at length by caution led,
Lo! Alma Mater rears her rev'rend head;
Unfolds the portals of her awful courts,
Where nurs'd by Science, future Fame reforts-
Pleas'd, we behold the bright'ning fuel blaze,
And hot repaft that gives content and ease;
While keenest appetites a zeft beftow,
Which liftlefs Luxury can never know.
The cloth remov'd, with bleffing for our fare,
We next the jug of cordial punch prepare;
Or purple claret sparkling as we pour,
Nectareous juice! to chear the focial hour,
When toil declining claims refreshment's smiles,
And mirthful Innocence the time beguiles.
With confcious joy our nets we then review,

And all the conquefts of the day renew;
Boaft of our skill, and palliate where it fails;
For e'en in trifles human pride prevails-
Nor to ourfelves the feather'd fpoils confine,

But range them round for Friendship's facred fhrine

The rural blifs redoubles in our breast,

In pleafing others when ourselves are blefs'd.

Nor

Nor you, my friends! difdain what we adore ;
We give with pleasure, and would give you more:
Our off'ring take; and, as we wish, furvey,

The grateful produce of a Winter's Day.

TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.

BY MRS. COLLIER.

AH, me! what pangs a tender heart muft feel!

Such is the wayward fate of all below,

We joy and forrow oft in others weal,
And beft affections prove a fource of woe.

To Friendship's pow'r I've long refign'd my foul,
And fancy'd happiness her reign must prove;
The ills of life I thought she would controul,
And peace and reft would flow from pureft love.

Alas! 'twas mortal, what I'd fancy'd more;

And ills will mix in fcenes beneath the sky: Friendship foon prov'd th' ideal blifs was o'er;

That pains were doubled by the tender tye.

Friendship, how ftrange thy fympathetick pow'r !

Thy magick influence fpreads thro' all my mind; I doat on pain, indulge the mournful hour,

When Friendship calls, nor think her task unkind.

Nay, more how oft I've left the mirthful scene,

The scene where joy and laughter seem'd to reign; And stole with Friendship to the calm ferene,

The converse of the heart-how great the gain!

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When my Maria meets me, gentle maid,
And tells the artlefs ftory of her woe;
My bofom meets her fighs, her griefs would aid,
And tear for tear from fympathy will flow!

Might but the heart-felt tenderness I bear,

Soothe the keen anguish of her aching breaft; With joy I would indulge th' endearing care, And live to hush her forrows into reft.

My dear Maria! can thy heart enjoy

A fenfe of aught that friendship can bestow? Or does thy wretchednefs all fense destroy, · But that which only ferves to fwell thy woe?

Yet fuch my love to thee, the tye fo ftrong,

I ftill would strive to eafe thy foul's diftrefs; Nor could pale mifery paint the season long,

That in the end should bring thy mind redress.

Sometimes I've feen a tranfient gleam of joy,
Transfus'd through all thy features to a smile:
Indulge the ray, nor be to Friendship coy;

Her kindly influence may thy woes beguile.

With liberal hand thy mind by Heav'n is flor'd,
Each dear affection in thy heart hath place;
For gifts like thefe, be gracious Heav'n ador'd,
And glowing gratitude exprefs the grace!)

Thefe, too, will bid thy tortur'd breast be ftill,
And calm thy troubled paffions into reft;
Will lead to acquiefce in th' Almighty's will,
And fee that all his ways are right, and beft.

SIMKIN.

SI M K
KIN.

A FAIRY TALE.

BY DR. KENRICK.

crinem

Irroravit aquis

Et neque jam color eft mifto candore rubori.

IN days of yore, when elves were feen,

I'

By moon-light dancing on the green,
Leading in myftick steps their train,
O'er marshy mead or flow'ry plain;
A maiden with her milking pail,
Tripp'd morn and eve across the vale;
Patty, the sweetest temper'd lafs
That e'er beat dew-drop from the grafs
But Nature, half unkind, had shed
Ill-natur'd influence on her head;
For, oh! the cause of many a care!
Deep-tinted red the virgin's hair.
For fifter nymphs she liv❜d a jest,
And ne'er was kifs'd among the rest.

Now fo it chanc'd, that by the mead, 'Where Patty's cows were us'd to feed,

There stood a mount, on verdant ground,
With daifies ftrew'd, and violets crown'd;
Round which had many a tim'rous swain
Seen fairies fporting on the plain :
For under, as the story's told,
They dwelt in palaces of gold;
Safe in the bofom of the hill,

Where they convey'd themfelves at will;

OVID.

Qr,

Or, when they pleas'd, from thence could rife,
Invisible to mortal eyes.

By these the nymph was often seen,

With clear-ftarch'd coif fo neat and clean,
Devoid of all that negligence,

That gives the fairies juft offence;

Who trace the house with critick eye,
Nor pass an unwash'd trencher by ;
But pinch fevere the careless maid,
For room unfwept, or fpoon mislaid.
They view in pity Patty's hair,
And take the virgin to their care.
Now, as at dusky eve the maid
Sat milking Mully in the fhade,
Simkin, a fprite of neither fex,
That us'd old peevish maids to vex,
In flowing azure loosely drefs'd,
A thin tranfparent gauze it's veft;
Like that which now to us convey'd,
The modern females term a fhade;
Astride a vapour dancing came;
A Will o' th' Wifp it's mortal name :
The fame which boys fo often ken,
From diftant lake or foggy fen;
A cloud of light that leads aftray
Trav'llers, benighted on their way.

Thus, over hill and dale, the maid
The well-defigning Simkin led;
Till twelve o'clock, a folemn found,
Rung, from a neighb'ring village, round:
What time the nimble fairies tread

The maiden daifies of the mead,
Which scarcely bend beneath their weight,
So lightly. trip their nimble feet.

How bleft the plain ! thrice fertile foil,
On which the fairies deign to fmile!

No

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