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Towards the end of a little Poem, entitled, "The Vanity of external Accomplishments," we find thefe ra tional, elegant, and melodious Verfes:

But who would waste their bloom, and not engage
One friend to foothe the win'try forms of age?
Let me, ye powers! infpir'd by reafon's laws,
Tho' coxcombs cenfure, gain my own applaufe;
In ufeful learning, as in years advance;
Improve my mind, and leave my form to chance :
Good fenfe and virtue gild the darkest scene,
And bloom as bright at fixty as fixteen.

Milton's Paradife Loft is now fo univerfally known and efteemed, that any quotations from thence may feem fuperfluous; but as there may be fome few Ladies who have paffed this refined fublime Author unnoticed, I fhall take the liberty of prefenting fome few beautiful paffages.

O unexpected stroke, worfe than of death!
Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife? thus leave
Thee, native foil, these happy walks and shades.
Fit haunt of gods! where I had hop'd to spend,
Quiet, though fad, the refpit of that day
That must be mortal to us both. O flow'rs,
That never will in other climate grow,

My early vifitation, and my last

At ev❜n, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first op'ning bud, and gave.you names,

Who

Who new fhall rear you to the fun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from th' ambrofial fount!
Thee laftly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd

With what to fight or smell was sweet; from thee
How fhall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obfcure

And wild, how fhall we breathe in other air
Lefs pure, accuftom'd to immortal fruits

Whom thus the angel interrupted mild.
Lament not, Eve, but patiently refign
What juftly thou haft loft; nor fet thy heart,
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine;
Thy going is not lonely, with thee goes
Thy husband, him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native foil.

heart

Forfake me not thus, Adam, witness heav'n
What love fincere, and reverence in my
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceiv'd; thy fuppliant,

I beg and clasp thy knees; bereave me not,
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid.
Thy counfel in this uttermoft diftrefs,

My only ftrength and Ray: forlorn of thee,
Whither fhall I betake me, where subsist?
While yet we live, fcarce onefhort hour perhaps,
Between us two let there be peace, both joining,
As join'd in injuries, one enmity

Against a foe by doom exprefs affign'd 'us,
That cruel ferpent: On me exercise not

The

Thy hatred for this mifery befall'n,
On me already loft, me than thy felf
More miferable, both have firn'd, but thou
Against God only, I againit God and thee,
And to the place of judgment will return,
There with my cries importune heav'n, that all
The sentence from thy head remov'd may light
On me, fue caufe to thee of all this woe.

Me, me only, juft object of his ire.

This Poem beautifully concludes with the following affecting lines.

In either hand the haft'ning angel caught Our ling ring parents, and to the eastern gate Led them direct, and down the cliff as faft To the subjected plain; then disappear'd. They looking back, all th' eaftern fide beheld Of Paradife, fo late their happy feat, Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms; Some natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them foon The world was all before them, where to chufe Their place of reft, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand with wandring steps and flow, Through Eden took their folitary way.

DELJA

288

DELIA AND THE GOLDFINCH.

FROM ROBERTSON'S POEMS.

MERCY, dear hawk!the little flutt'rer fpare,
Cries Delia, on a daified bank reclin'd;
The pretty innocent Oh! do not tear,

"Nor thus pursue him with blood-hungër'd mind.

See, how the tyrant downward darts the blow:-
"And fee―the fohgfter fcapes by fidelong flight?—
Now, now he's loft-Now he eludes the foe ;-
"And now the murd'rer ftrikes with all his might.'

She faid-when lo! the deftin'd Finch she spies
Exhausted by despair and danger prest,
Drop in the fhelt'ring vale that tempting lies
Between the hillocks of her milky breast.

Neftling, his little bofom flutt'ring beats,
With the wild throbbings of tumultuous fear;
Her pulfe refponfive throb for throb repeats,
And pity mixt with joy calls forth a tear...

Here, fweet mufician-fafe may'ft thou remain,
"In me a friendly kind protector view;
No cruelty did e'er this bofom stain,
"To love and gentleft pity ever true.

ie Here,

Here, fweet musician, in this warm retreat
"Securely dwell, till danger fcud away;
Then instant shall your wishes freedom meet,
"To greet thy partner with thy tend'reft lay.

Like this poor bird, my distant lord may want, "From favage cruelty, a fhelt'ring wing; “Good heav'n, in mercy that protection grant, "And to these arms reftor'd my hero bring.

"Ah! why wou'd Celadon for wars alarms "And honor's bubble, from his Delia rove? Why wou'd he quit these ever-faithful arms?"What's wealth---What's honor, when compar'd to

love?

"Fly, little warbler---to fome lonely mate "A Celadon belov'd perhaps thou art :Fly, little warbler, e'er it is too late,

"And with thy fong revive her drooping heart."

The Goldfinch freed, all gratitude, repays
Each morn and eve her kindness with a fongs
The hills and groves refound fair Delia's praise;
Delia--now godefs of the feather'd throng.

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