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SONNET.

BY THE SAME.

STILL

on my

soul that awful hour shall rise,

When, bounding home from the red-blossom'd heath, Full in my view the corpse-like form of death

First burst in horror on mine infant

eyes:

The sheeted bed of melancholy white,

The death-watch, and the dog's long dreary howl, The ghostly terror lest the parted soul

Should glide before the shuddering watch at night; The sable bier, the wailing female cry

When slow the sad procession mov'd away I well remember,-and for many a day I mus❜d, and hop'd that I should never die. Vain hope! for death, since that tremendous hour, Has been the canker-worm of pleasure's flower.

SONNET.

TO MILFORD HAVEN. ON LANDING AFTER A SEVERE TEMPEST, 1792.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

FAM'D haven! whose capacious arms embrace
A clear expanse, to float BRITANNIA's pride;
Or give kind refuge to the wandering race,

Sore rock'd by BOREAS' breath, and NEPTUNE's tide; Thy banks-if aught enrich'd by SHAKSPEARE'S strain, The melting scene of IMOGEN's distress,

Were subject meet for minstrel voice profane,
Thy beauteous banks my votive song should bless.
Yet may he hope-who, late escap'd the grave
Of LYCIDAS, to taste poetic dear!

For thy still bosom chang'd the stormy wave-
Yet fondly hope the hour propitious near,
From CAMBRIA's vales when navies shall emerge,

Fill all thy winding ports, and ride the ATLANTIC surge!

SONNET.

ON

READING THE POEMS OF A GIRL OF THIRTEEN, 1810.

BY THE SAME.

WITH anxious thought the parent eyes his child,
Whose ripening talents sanguine hope outrun;
Like flowrets rare, that wait the kindling sun,
To throw their tints and fragrance o'er the wild.
And oft of care that parent was beguil❜d,

Who mark'd to fame her youthful genius soar,
Fraught with the treasures of poetic lore,
While every Muse on Fancy's darling smil'd!
So, deep sequester'd in the PERSIC stream,

Mid coral caves the pearl, unheeded, lies;
Till, given to day, it drinks the orient beam,

And claims the homage of admiring eyes:
Selected now, to grace INDOSTAN's throne,
Its lustre, matchless, and its price, unknown!

SONNET.

On reading the Poems of Hurdis, after a perusal of Sir Joshua Reynolds's Academic Discourse on Gainsbrough.

BY T. PARK, ESQ.

MUCH of thy semblance, CowPER, do we trace,
Much of thy tender and attractive air,
In moral Hurdis; though with equal grace
He thy poetic mantle might not wear.
Of GAINSBROUGH thus, whose pencil lent a charm
That vied with nature in her rustic state,
Dupont preserv'd a glow: and Hoppner, warm
With love for REYNOLDS gave his tints a date
Beyond their own recording.-Now the prey
All, all, of death!-the pupils like their peers
Set in dim night. And though but halos they,

Of orbs that still may shine for numerous years;
Yet was their lustre such, it leaves a sigh
That they are like to fade from thankless memory.

SONNET.

TO THE SWALLOW.

BY MR. J. M. LACY.

HAIL, gentle swallow, hail! when you appear
We deem it summer time, and pleas'd we view
Thy coming flight, which nature bids be true;
'Tis this, swift-winged bird, that makes thee dear:
And long we love to have thy presence here,

To watch thy sweeping course above the wave,
Or see thee stoop thy plumed wing to lave
In streams, that, like the sky they shew, are clear.
But when declining summer's beam grows faint,

You wing your way to lands unknown to gloom,
Where no cold blast shall give thy flight restraint,
Where winter dares not bring his bitter doom!
Thus still you live in ever blooming bow'rs,
Midst one unchanging round of gladsome summer hours!

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