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ODE TO PITY.
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros :
Felix! in imo qui scatentem i
O Thou, whose sweetly melting eyes.
The soul of sorrow breathe, i
To bind a suiting, wreathe.
For thou canst still my throbbing breast,
And bid the milder glow;
Thou giv'st the tear to flow.
Slow winding thro' thy magic cell,
Its mellow tones prolong;
The tender passions throng.
And O, down yon sequester'd vale,
What mingled murmurs speak!
Yon sad complainings break.
Oh sweet enthusiast ! ever near
The woundings of the heart;
Now bid thy sorrows part.
O'er him, to Death's cold'arm assign'd, For whose green turf shall fancy bind
The wreaths that never fade, And where, as eve's mild dews descend, Sad forms of meek-ey'd mercy bend,
And bless the hallow'd shade.
Where still, as shuts the eye
Where twilight glim'rings dwell,
That sweep the haunted dell.
Where art thou Sterne? O spirit sweet ! To what lov'd scene dost thou retreat,
To pour thy pensive talé ? There, on the wild shore fitting round, O’er what räpt sprites, in dying sound,
Do thy soft tonės prevail ?
The tender tear shall Petrarch shed,
The sigh of love repress;
Thy gentle shade caress?
From fair Fidele's grassý grave,
And breathe his magic song ?
At eve the woods along.
Or Shakspeare, bard divine! from where The ling’ring thunders rend the air,
And red-tongu'd lightnings play, From where on yonder clifted brow, He views the mingling war below,
Glad take his silent way?
Oh master of the human soul!
And bathe thy manly breast,
Her wand'rings wild address:d.
O yes, while breathes thy tender page,
Shall steal the heart-felt sigh ;
That starts in Pity's eye.
Ah maiden lov'd! from earliest youth
Each trembling pulse is thine;
The flowers that deck thy shrine,
Ah me! to thoughtless mirth assign'd,
And leave the wretch to weep,
In dull oblivion sleep.
The following Epitaph, the poetical part of which, at the request of the relations of the deceased Lady, I have lately been induced to compose, can lay claim, I believe, to the uncommon merit, of a close adherence to matter of fact. Mrs. Gastrell was a woman singularly pious and amiable, most liberally yet judiciously charitable and benevolent, who waited not until the hand of Death neces sarily transferred her wealth, but some years anterior to that event, distributed among her relatives sixteen thousand pounds. She brought up also, and under her immediate care, several young persons, to whom she left property proportioned to their expectations and the style of education they had received.