Ah, whither fled? Ye dear illufions, stay! Lo, pale and filent lies the lovely clay. How are the roses on that cheek decay'd, Which late the purple light of youth display'd! Health on her form each fprightly grace beftow'd; With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd. Fair was the bloffom, foft the vernal sky; Elate with hope we deem'd no tempeft nigh; When lo, a whirlwind's inftantaneous guft Left all its beauties withering in the dust. Cold the foft hand, that footh'd Woe's weary head! O Death! why arm with cruelty thy power, Efcap'd the dungeon does the flave complain, And And wings the foul with boundless flight to foar Lo, where in fpeechless, hopeless anguish, bend Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bier DR. BEATTIE. SE CT. CXII. ON A THUNDER-STORM, AT MIDNIGHT. LET coward Guilt, with pallid Fear, To fhelt'ring caverns fly, And juftly dread the vengeful fate Protected by that hand, whofe law In the thick cloud's tremendous gloom, It views the fame all-gracious Pow'r Thro Thro' nature's ever-varying scene, With like beneficent effect O'er flaming æther glows, As when it tunes the linnet's voice, By reason taught to scorn those fears Thy life may all the tend'reft care Of Providence defend, And delegated angels round Their guardian wings extend! When thro' creation's vast expanse Unmov'd may'f That ushers in the glad ferene MISS CARTER. SECT A T day's early dawn, a gay Butterfly spy'd A budding young Rofe, and he wish'd her his She blush'd when she heard him his paffion declare, II. When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies; Had less than one fourth of his journey to run. "I faw when you gave the bafe Vi'let a kifs: "How could you defcend to fuch meanness as this? "Shall a low little wretch, whom we Rofes despise, "Find favour, oh Love, in my Butterfly's eyes? "On a Tulip, quite tawdry, I mark'd your foul rape; "Nor yet could the pitiful Primrose escape: "Dull Daffodils, too, were with paffion addrefs'd, « And Poppies, ill-fcented, you fondly carefs'd." The IV. The coxcomb was piqued, and reply'd with a fneer, "That you're firft to complain, I commend you, my dear; "But, know, from your conduct my maxims I drew, "And if I'm inconftant, I copy from you. I faw the boy Zephyrus rifle your charms; "I faw how you fimper'd and smil'd in his arms: "The Honey-bee kifs'd you, you must not difown; "You favour'd, likewise, O difhonour! a Drone! "What's worse-'tis a fault which you cannot deny, "Your sweets were made common, falfe Rofe, to a Fly.” THE MORAL. This law, long ago, did Love's providence make, LIKE as the buftling bee, when spring difplays Seeks the new gardens, and on Flora treads, Here |