« AnteriorContinuar »
*Tis sweet to cchio sigh for sigh ;
'Tis sweet to nurse a silent grief,
'Tis sweet by twilight pale, alone, To
press the dumb, sepulchral stone; For still, to God and nature dear, Flows sadly sweet the parent's tear.
'Tis sweet to wake the harp of woé,
To Mrs. B
'Tis Friendship's right, I know full well,
R. A. D.
Tecum venitque, minetque; t.
IF e'er to feel the breath of Fame
Could hope my humble lyre, It were because thy sacred name
Hangs trembling on its wire. Thy name breathes magic o'er my song,
As when by Selma's springs, An unknown spirit mov'd along,
And swept the dying strings.
My raptur'd soul surveys;
Thy merit all my praise.
An index to the spheres,
Thine obvious soul appears.
Commix with shades of even;
The harmony of Heaven.
As fields of grain th' impulsive wind,
With all their waves obey ;
Shall own thy gentle sway.
Because Thou lovest its tone;
To'assimilate my own.
Can mightier thoughts inspire;:
I think I feel Thy fire.
More sportively entwine,
The elegance of Thine.
When wild her features grow,
With all th' enthusiast's glow.
In milder scenes I see,
Is borrow'd half from Thee. Thus
reason gave my passion birth ; Nature and heaven approve, And to my eyes the total earth
Is full of thee and love.
On the Thanksgiving for the Victory of the Nile. Partly an Imitation of Jam satis Terris.
BY THE REV, W. CLUBBE.
When Gothic ignorance and crimes,
Enough have Atheists in their pride
Beheld Humanity decay,
We saw with wild gigantic stride
To death and rapine speed their way;
What power shall bring them back to peace,
To thee for help in need we pray;
Ordain'd by thy supreme decree
Thus far nor further shalt thoti go: