viction, that he was shortly to be snatched for ever from her embraces; that, though her idea was inseparable from his mind, and the possession of her the dearest wish of his heart, he was, in the midst of life and hope, on the verge of that world-where "there is neither married nor given in marriage!"

'Tis not a cheek that boasts the ruby's glow,
The neck of ivory, or the breast of snow;
'Tis not a dimple known so oft to charm,
The hand's soft polish, or the tapering arm;
'Tis not the braided lock of golden hue,
Nor reddening lip that swells with vernal dew;
'Tis not a smile that blooms with young desire;
'Tis not an eye that sheds celestial fire;
NO, DELIA! these are not the spells that move
My heart to fold thee in eternal love :

But 'tis that Soul, which from so fair a frame
Looks forth, and tells us-'twas from Heaven it came!

THE FAREWELL.

ADIEU, thou darling of my Heart,

Whom never more these eyes shall see!
Yet, once again, before we part—
Nymph of my Soul !—again adieu !

Yet one kiss more? this kiss, the last
That I will ask or thou shalt give,
Though on my lips it dies too fast,
Shall always in my memory live.
But thou each tender thought of me
Blot out for ever from thy breast;
Nor heed what pangs I feel for thee,
While with another thou art blest!

To him, whom Heaven has made thy Mate,
Thus, thus thy beauties I resign:
He boasts, alas! a happier fate,
But not a purer flame than mine.

Yet let him make thy bliss his care,

As I (thou know'st it!) would have done; My love for thy sake he shall share, My envy only for his own.

FRENCH LAURENCE.

1784.

Member of Parliament for Peterborough; Doctor in the Civil Law, and, as such, a respectable civilian; a distinguished statesman, a profound political writer, a powerful satirist, and an elegant poet. Notwithstanding his professed admiration for the Fair, Dr. Laurence continues to prefer the solitary dignity of celibacy.

ODE TO FANCY.

O THOU! whose empire unconfin'd
Rules all the busy realms of Mind!
The slow-eyed Cares thy mild dominion
Confess, if thou thy rod extend,
No more the sharp-fang'd sorrows rend,
But hovering round on frolic pinion
The laughing train of Joys descend.

To soothe the woes of absent love,
Come Fancy! now, what time above

The full-orb'd moon, that rose all-glowing,
Begins her lifted lamp to pale;

What time to charm the listening vale,
In liquid warbles fondly-flowing,
Laments the' enamoured Nightingale.

In softly-pleasing light the Queen
Of Heaven arrays the blue serene;
Yet lovelier beams the gentle glory
In ANNA's azure eyes display'd:
Sweet is the poet of the shade;

Yet sweeter than his warbled story
Each sound from Anna's lip convey'd.

Nor haply shall I ever find
That tongue to me alone unkind,

On every grief but mine so ready
To bid the balm of comfort flow;
Nor shall that eye which every woe
But mine can melt, thus ever steady
To me alone no pity show.

Like mine, her bosom now may feel
The tender melancholy steal,

Though maiden modesty dissemble;
And now, while Memory brings again
The Muse which first reveal'd my pain,
The' involuntary tear may tremble,
And own the triumph of the strain.

So whispers Hope: by Fancy led
She comes. With rosy wreaths her head,
With rosy wreaths her sacred anchor
Love intertwines—in vain employ;
For lo! behind the' exulting boy,

With stifled smiles of patient rancour
Creeps Mockery, watchful to destroy.

Ah! still, though whisper'd to deceive,
Let me thy flatteries, Hope, believe,
Content from grief one hour to borrow!
Ah! still, if o'er my distant way,
As through the path of life I stray,
Hang gathering clouds of future sorrow,
O Fancy! gild them with thy ray.

RICHARD POLWHELE.

1784.

Neither antiquity or loyalty are wanting to dignify the genealogy of Mr. Polwhele, son of Thomas Polwhele, Esq. of Polwhele in Cornwall, where he was born in the year 1760. Before the expiration of the time during which he was placed at the Grammar School of Truro, about two miles from his patrimonial dwelling, he gave satisfactory specimens of his poetical talent. Although Mr. Polwhele quitted the university of Christ Church without taking a degree, he entered into Orders in 1782, and served the living of Lamorran. Here he married Miss Loveday Warren, the Laura celebrated in his poems. Soon after this union, he became curate of Kenton, Devonshire, where he remained till the death of his wife; who died early in 1793, in the twenty-eighth year of her age, and was buried at Kenton. This event afflicted him so far as to compel him to quit a scene now insupportable to his feelings; and he removed to Truro. In 1795, however, having obtained the vicårage of Manaccan, in Cornwall, by voluntary presentation, from the late Bishop Buller, Mr. Polwhele engaged a second time in marriage. The subject of his election, on this occasion, was Mary daughter of Capt. R. Tyrell, of Exmouth. Mr. Polwhele's publications are multifarious and diversified; embracing subjects theological, poetical, topographical, and archæological.

He was doubtless passionately attached to Laura, who, besides the remembrance of her merits, which seem to have been highly appreciated by those to whose observation they were revealed, left him the father of children. Her tomb was therefore consecrated by the tears of affectionate regret. Dr. Downman of Exeter, the friend of her husband, and witness of her life, has, in the following lines, very impressively commemorated her worth.