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DEPRIVED of all on earth I valued most,

By disappointed hope, and cares deprest, Each brighter dream of Expectation crost,

Say what shall soothe my wounded soul to rest?

In vain amid the circles of the

gay I seek a short oblivion of despair, To scenes of solitude in vain 1 stray,

The form of vanish'd Pleasure haunts me there.

Remembrance still recalls the cherish'd hours,

When not a cloud obscur'd this tranquil breast; But vain are all her visionary powers,

Which only tell me, that I once was blest.
Yet tho’impervious clouds deform the skies,
And drooping nature fades before the gloom,

unexpected storms around me rise,
And not a ray the distant scenes illume,

Tho'

VOL. VI.

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Tho' Hope no more the opening prospect cheers,

And Fancy's brighter visions all decay, Yet shall Affection to my latest years,

With cherish'd rapture bless thy natal day.

Where'er I

roam,
whate'er

my earthly state, For thee, my love, the heartfelt prayer shall rise, For thee invoke a milder, happier fate,

And every bliss which heaven to me denies.

Oh! never may thy gentle bosom know

The pangs which rend the disappointed heart, But ever as the varying seasons flow

Each opening hour some new-born charm impart.

Be thine each purer joy the world bestows,

An age unvex'd with malady or strife, Content, alternate pleasure and repose,

And all that graces, all that sweetens life.

These joys (such joys for thee should Heaven ordain,

In pity to the anguish I endure)
May yield a transitory pause from pain,

And soothe perhaps the ills they cannot cure.

W, P.

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W

HLE
Hope

half sunk beneath successive fears
Scarce mark'd the colour of approaching years;
While chill Suspense, and varying Cares represt
The daw ning visions of this anxious breast;
Amid each pang of absence and delay
Still for thy peace I pour’d the fervent prayer,
And on that wish suspended half my care
-And shall I now, when fears no more annoy
Lost in the sweet reality of joy ;
When blest beyond the lot of man I see
My every wish at length obtain'd-in thee;
Say, shall I brood indifferent o'er that fate,
From which alone my bliss must take its date?

unmov'd thy natal morn appear, Nor bless the hour that owns a birth so dear?.

till the vital spark shall cease to glow, For thee th' unvary'd, heartfelt prayer shall flow

O dearest wish of this unchanging heart, O more than power or riches could impart, Source of each pleasure fav’ring heaven can give, * For whom, and whom alone I ask to live!"

Behold

Not

Long, very long, may this auspicious morn
Rich in accumulated joys return;
Rich in the purest joys that life bestows,
That love awakens, or that friendship knows.
May rosy health with cheering hand diffuse
Warm o'er thy cheek her animating hues,
Encreasing years thy sum of bliss encrease,
And crown thy latest age with smiles of hope and

peace!
Yet should just Heaven a different lot ordain,
(For life has often some alloys of pain !)
Should hast’ning age, or malady oppress,
And mar our dreams of social happiness :-
--In every worldly ill, in every care,
This breast shall ever feel an equal share;
Shall make its greatest bliss, its highest pride,
Thy joys to heighten, and thy griefs divide.

W. P.

TO MRS. T....

ON READING HER BEAUTIFUL POEM OF PSYCHIE

OR THE LEGEND OF LOVE.

When feeling, taste, and genius all conspire

To claim the undisputed meed of praise, In vain, where all must envy or admire,

The feeble tribute of applause we raise. For who shall paint her worth, whose matchleso mind,

Warm with the elegance of classic lore, By reason strengthen’d, and by love refin'd,

Divides the palm which Spenser own'd before!

Blest page! where, whilst the varied graces shino,

Fair Virtue wears her most attractive hues, Where glowing Wisdom stamps th'impressive line,

And Truth entwines the flowers which Fancy strews.

'Tis thine to bid incautious virtųe fly

The paths, where fell deceits in ambush move, Ambition's lure, Suspicion's venom'd eye ;

-And prize the calmer sweets of social love.

For thee, sweet muse, whose artless strains display

Each chaste affection of the female heart, Thine are the joys which never can decay,

The joys which virtue, science, truth impart. These, while the lighter pleasures of the hour

A sickly gleam of dubious rapture cast, Shall yield their soft, consolatory power

To bless the future, and endear the past.

W. P.

EPIGRAM.

FROM OWEN.

LIB. V. EP. VI.

Orpheus, his wife to snatch from Hell,

Its utmost horrors brav’d;
But never yet did Poet tell
Of Man by Woman sav’d.

Ε

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