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Thus unperceiv'd glides on the vacant day,
And gradual steal the willow'd banks away.

SPRING, thou return'st; but labour, care, and pain
Might mar thy sweets, and make thy coming vain:
Vain is thy glad return to him, who bends
Beneath hard penury, bereft of friends;
And vain to him, who feeds the wasting fire
Of dim-ey'd, hopeless, pining, wan desire.
The gloomy debtor's heart thou canst not cheer;
Thou canst not wipe the wretched widow's tear;
Thou canst not charm the tyrant, nor controul
The busy pangs, that rend his guilty soul;
And those, who mourn oppression's sullen sway,
With hearts unbeating view thy golden ray:
Nor always gladden'd by thy fost'ring care,
Thy health-inspiring suns, and balmy air,
Does groaning Pain forsake his tedious bed,
Or pining Sickness rear her drooping head.

Nor shine thy rapt'rous moments always fair
To him who droops beneath no private care;
Still shall the gen'rous breast its views extend,
And share the griets of all, to all a friend.
Dear to the virtuous soul is pity's tear,
Beyond all sensual selfish pleasure dear;
Dear is the sigh, to wailing Mis'ry paid,
And sweet the the toil, that seeks the poor to aid;
Nor is there bliss in all this scene below,
Like his, who rescues want or comforts woe.
Still, as thy hours return, delightful Spring,
These mild emotions to my bosom bring;
The bliss thy charms inspire, chastis'd by these,
Beyond all wild unmeaning joy shall please.
So sweeter than the fev'rish glare of day
Is meek and pensive ev'ning's sober ray,

When the sad bird begins to charm the vales,
And earth revives beneath the cooling gales:
So, when its beauteous tints the rainbow rears,
More fresh and green the moisten'd soil appears;
The show'rs, in silence shed, expand the heart,
And fragrance, peace, and hope to man impart.

E. HAMLEY.

EPIGRAM FROM THE LATIN.

BY THE LATE REV. T. COLE, LL.B. WAR, more inflam'd than civil discord's rage, Religious war two zealous brothers wage. THIS for the faith of Protestants contends; A Papist THAT the church of Rome defends. Each rais'd his force; each match'd his føé so well, Alike both champions fought, alike they fell. What both desir'd, his brother each subdues; What fate decreed, their faith both brothers lose. No cause of triumph either side could boast; Each victor yields, and takes his captive's post. Strange war! where both, as vanquish'd, are content, And both, as conquering, their success lament.

* There were two brothers, Jolin and William Reynolds; one a rigid Papist, the other as tenacious a Protestant: both were inspired with an equal zeal of converting each other. With that view, they had frequent elaborate and learned disputes: at last their controversies had this effect-the Papist became a Protestant, and the Protestant a Papist; which gave occasion to this beautiful Epigram by Dr. Alabaster.

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ODE TO HEALTH.

Written at Buxton, in Derbyshire. 1765.

BY F. N. C. MUNDAY, ESQ.

O Rosy Health, heart-easy Maid,
In garments light thy limbs array'd,
In smiles thy jocund features drest,
Of Heaven's best blessings thou the best;
Bright Goddess ever fair and young,
To thee my votive lays belong!
For thou hast fill'd each languid vein
With vigour, life, and strength again,
When pale, enervate, wan, and weak,
Despair and sickness seiz'd my cheek.

O cou'd my voice such numbers raise
Thee and thy healing founts to praise,
As might with themes so high agree,
Praise, worthy them, and worthy thee!
O nymph admit me of thy train,
With thee to range the breezy plain;
And fresh and strong my limbs to lave
Beneath thy nerve-restoring wave.
With thee to rouze the slumbering morn
With opening hound and cheering horn,
With shouts that shake each wood and hill,
While mocking Echo takes her fill.

O lover of the daisied lawn!
"Tis thine, at earliest peep of dawn
The ranging forester to greet,
Or the blithe lass whose tripping feet,
All as she sings beneath her pail,
Imprint long traces o'er the vale,
Nor seekest thou the proud resorts
Of cities and licentious courts,
Where Sloth and Gluttony abide,
With bloated Surfeit by their side;
But humbly scornest not to dwell
With Temperance in the rural cell;
To watch the sheep-boy at his stand,
Or ploughman on the furrow'd land.
These climates cold, these barren plains,
Where rude uncultur'd Nature reigns,
Better thy hardy manners please
Than bowers of Luxury and Ease.
And oft you trip these hills among
With Exercise, a sportsman young,
Who starting at the call of day
Cuffs drowsy Indolence away,
And climbs with many a sturdy stride
The mossy Mountain's quivering side.
Nor fleeting mist, nor sullen storm,
Nor blast, nor whirlwind can deform
The careless scene when thou art there,
With Cheerfulness thy daughter fair.
From thee, bright Health, all blessings spring,
Hither thy blooming Children bring,
Light-hearted Mirth, and Sport, and Joy,
And young-ey'd Love thy darling boy.
'Tis thou hast pour'd o'er Beauty's face
Its artless bloom, its native grace;

Thou on my Laura's lip hast spread
The peach's blush, the rose's red;
With quickening life thy touch supplies
The polish'd lustre of her eyes.
O ever make thy dwelling there,
And guard from harm my favourite Fair!
O let no blighting grief come nigh;
And chace away each hurtful sigh,
Disease with sickly yellow spread,
And Pain that holds the drooping head!
There as her beauties
you defend,
Oft may her eye in kindness bend

(So doubly bounteous wilt thou prove)
On me who live but in her love.

ON A LADY FAINTING AT CHURCH.

BY RICHARD FENTON, ESQ.

an vitiis carentem

Ludit imago

Vana

HOR.

WHEN fix'd in all the zeal of prayer,
Thine eyes no earthly joys pursue,
When all the world and mortal care
Grow less and less upon the view,
What envious shadows intervene,
To cloud thy beatific scene.

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