Not soon provoked, she easily forgives; Each other gift, which GOD on man bestows, Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees, In happy triumph shall for ever live, And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive. ELEGIES. ON THE 25TH OF OCTOBER, 1819. ANOTHER year! a year of solitude, Of darkness, yet of peace, has past,-and he, O thou! our father: thou, our prince and friend! How many a sight that would have grieved thine eyes, How many a pang that would have wrung thy heart, Has GOD withheld, and thine affliction spared! The rose of England wither'd in its bud, The voice of wailing was in ev'ry tent, Yet thy day passed unruffled as before. The partner of thy hopes, when hope was young, She who had shared thy first, thy youthful love, And ministered to ev'ry sorrow ;-shẹ Fell by long sickness, and a lingering death;! Yet thou art not forgotten !—Dear thou wast THE FOLLOWING LINES Are said to have been written by an amiable Princess, whose sufferings and exemplary patience· awakened universal sympathy and admiration. UNTHINKING, idle, wild, and young, I laughed, and talked, and danced, and sung;. But when the days of trial came, When sickness shook this trembling frame,, It then occurred, how sad 'twould be ON THE DEATH OF THE HON. MR. DAWSON. O YE! who, borne on Fancy's golden wing, Dream of no threat'ning storm, no danger nigh: A little while your fond pursuits forbear! One hour, at least, to serious thought is due! A friend demands the tribute of a tear; A friend, who once had hopes, as bright as you!! Whene'er he mixt among the youthful train, While, as on his, with softest zephyrs fann'd, How oft you joined him at th' accustomed hour, When, led by Learning's hand, yon pile he sought; : How oft, while ev'ning reigned, in yonder bower, Warm glowed his bosom with poetic thought ! For well the golden lyre his fingers strung; To him the Muse her richest treasures gave; But Death, regardless of the strains he sung, Frowned on the bard, and snatched him to the grave. |