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I come, ye worms, my flesh to give;
Feast, feast, insatiate crew; Sure Myra will at least believe,
That her scorn'd swain to death was true.
Yet, oh ye pow'rs! who plac'd on high,
Our inmost wishes see,
she never love like me!
Should the rude wind too roughly blow,
Droop o'er its parent bed!
Could raise its weeping head!
Never to blossom more!
Could e'er that rose restore.
TO THE RUINS OF PALMYRA.
WRITTEN IN THE VICINITY.
BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.,
ILLUSTRIOUS scene! tho' Egypt pour
To swell thy antient pride;
Thy throne shall time deride!
Thy coins, remov'd from day!
The critic's verdant bay!
Which lights this classic pile:
He braves ARABIAN guile!
For lo! amid the cypress grove,
A tented town appears!
A line of hostile spears !
The lurking pest with-hold:
Whence Wood thy wonders told !
LEFT ON THE BROKEN HARPSICHORD OF A
DECEASED SISTER. 1769.
BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.
Way sleep the sounds which struck my listening ear,
Rom. ch. vii. v. 19. “ The good that I would, I do not; but the
evil which I would not, that I do.”
Video meliora, proboque
Hear me, O Heaven! for thou hast power
To quell my wild desires;
My soul's unhallow'd fires !
Restore me to thy love! and let
heart! Thy Spirit can to me, tho’ weak,
Resisting power impart.
DR. CLAKE'S TRAVELS TO THE HOLY LAND.
BY T. PARK, ESQ.
Well may our eyes suffuse with sacred dew,
Well may our souls with veneration thrill, Cana, the mount, and Calvary to view,
The plain of Esdraelon and Sion's hill! Yet is it not near Salem to have trod,
Or of her temples to display the chart, Can draw the Christian nearer to his God;
That "holy land” must be a pious heart!