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whose hearts overflow with tender-' views scorns to use te language of ness, and whose gentle bosom: are romance. He will treat you as a the seats of pity and compassion, woman of sense who dispist's fialread this, and ritlect to what a stale tery, and not as one whi»n he ture your gardless sex are liable; and ships as the idol of the day. Think, shin, oh! shun the artful olatterer's then, how unhappy is womau; one wily snares, whose soit insinuating false step for ever ruins her: while tale so often betrays you, and puis man, on the contrary, triumphs in his even innocence and all its meek- pertidy; and the world countenancés eyed train to rout. Know that, to the barbarous executioner, while it gratify a momentary passion, a vil- condimns the innocent victim. lain has often made ibe innocent With the following stanzas of wreiched for life, and distressed a Guldsmith I conclude my walk: family that had nothing but indus- 'Wher lovely woman stoops to felly, try for their protection and honesty And tinds, coo lare, that men betray; *r their portion.
Wint charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guiit away? • Were you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye
• The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from 'every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his boson--is to die!" : I cannot help dropping a friendly tear while I reflect to what a sud situation many are brought; their
ON DRAMATIC SOLILOQUY. reputation, peace, and happiness gone
THOUGH a soliloquy in the per. for ever; lost in the estimation of turbation of passion is undoubtedly their friends and acquaintance, de- natural, and indeed not unfrequent in prived of domestic comfort, and at real life, yet Cungreve, who has himlast b, come prey to repentance self penned several good soliloquies, and sorrow, Think, dear readers ! grants, perhaps with more candour how can you pass each lingering than truth, that they are unnatural; hour when corroding thoughis dis. and he only pretends to justify them tub your peaceful monents! Then from necessity. Thishedoes in his delisten not to the delading tale of dication of the Double Dealer, in the the spoilt man, lest you imbibe the following words :--
When 2 man, noxiuus < til svia ot a poisonous va- ' in a soliloquy, reasons with himself, pour, which creates dissipation, and and pros and cons, and weighs all ends in Sorrow and repentance. his designs, we ought not to imagine How a plicable here are the lines of that this man either talks to us or to Foung!
himself: he is only thinking, and Self tilaiter'd, unexperienced, high in hope, thinking (frequently) such matter When young, witin sanguine hope and stream- as it were inexcusable folly in him 10
speak. We cut our cab.c, launch into the world,
But because we are con
ODE FOR HIS ITAJESTY'S BIRTH
Be hush'd awhile each ruder sound,
Wide Britain's grateful voice
The monarch of her choice.
They cannot blunt guilt's scorpion sting;
The Parent and the King.
From an wfinisbe] Poem, on the Influence
BY HENRY JAMES PYE, ESQ. P. L. STILL does the trumpet's brazen throat
Pour forth a martial sound, Still do the notes of battle Boat
In warlike clangocr round;
To graceful BRITAIN ever dear:
Barst on the list'ning ear.
Whirls o'er th' ensanguin'd plains,
Stern war terrific reigns;
Calls to his scatter'd naval hosta
Shut commerce froin her cuast.'
The empress of the waves,
The empty menace braves;
While, ploughing seas of ciassic fame, Nile yields once more to Albion's pow'rs, And Alexandria vails her tow'rs
To George's mightier name.
To combat on the main,
In steady march the plain.
That drives the foe from ocean's tide; And loudly too, with fond acclain, Chant trophid Maidi's deathless fame
With military pride.
of fiction. B: W. M. T.
SWEET child of fancy! Fiction! thou hast
por To move each various passion which we
krow; Canst bid the brow with imag'd sorrow's
low'r, Canst make the breast with imag'd plea
bures glow. At thy command the tears of pity flow, Or haggard terror 'palis the drooping soul;
Yet still we listen to thy tale of woe With anxious ear; we court thy wild con
troul, And hail shee deck'd as mirib, or wrape
in mis’ry's stole!
By W.M.T. GRANT
kind Heav'n! 'tis all I now desire, A stil retreat far from the noisy throng; Where, unmolested, I may strike the lyre, And form my rude and carly warbled
Safe from detraction's venom-pointed With chalky-white cheek, in windinga tongue,
sheet clad, Free from the thoughts ambition's vot’ries To wander with fiends o'er the green.
fire, Where calınly wandering, the woods •'Twas dark as the womb of the grave, save
when shed among From the world's joyless scenes I may
The moon thro' a black cloud its ray; retire!
Or glinumer'd where fed", on the limbs of These are the dreams of hope--but ah!
The blood-hound and wild-dog so grey.
• 'Twas, O stranger! a night that might strike
with affignt Its heart-corroding thoughts, and misery. Op'easing dreams, by fancy's pow'r ye're Bue Egbert sate clasping his damsel so
The soul of the warrior most bold;
· Where yet stands yon window the lovers YOUNG EGBERT AND GAY
And thus Egbert in extacy cried,
Rosabell's waist, - They whose sight such dreary dreams
“O when shall I call thee my bride!" engross, With their own visions oft astonish'd droop.'
“O tell me, fair maid, when thou'lt be my COLLINS.
dear bride ;
O bless me, and name the bright day; "O WHY are the halls of yon castle laid For the moments of transport are few, but waste?
“ O press me not, Egbert, nor think that I'm
cold," O stranger, O stranger,' the warder replied Thus answer'd the gay Rosabell, • This castle, by magical spell,
“ That yet from thy wishes my hand I Now moulders; to punish the falsehood and
How I love God only can tell! Of its lady, the gay Rosabeil.'
“And I call on that God that I now speak the And who,' cried the stranger,
That I never lov'd any but you : Who thus feels for her falsehood and Nor the riches of age, nur the beauty of youth, pride?
Shall make me to Egbert untrue.
“ I swear by that God, that none e'er on this
breast • stranger, the gay Rosabell was a maid, Hath imprinted the kisses of love; Than whom fairer none ever was seen;
I swear by that God that no youth ever For the soft smile of love round her lips
pressid sweetly play'd,
These lips with the transports of love. And languish'd her lovely blue een:
I swear by that God"-Cried a voice, “O *And dearly young Egbert he lov'd Rosabell,
for bear!" Who as deariy his love did return;
The maid turn'din terror around; And oft on her beauties enruptur'd he'd When lo! on her neck, with a hideous stare; dwell,
A spectre his grisly arms bound.
His heart it vis pierc'd, yet in agony beat,
ODE And wide gap'd his throat w th a wound;
TO AMBITION. And his fætid breath fill'd, with a fev'rish heat,
By W. M. I, The rooms of the castle around.
HENCE Ambition ! demon, hence! "O Rosabell, Rosabell," murmur'd the
O'er me thou hast no pow'r; sprite,
Hence then, nor tempt me! demon, henee! “When I left you to seek Palestine, You gave me such kisses of rape'rous Thy charms are little recompence delight,
For many a troubled hour, And swore you would ever be mine.
Too well I know the wily art # O Rosabell, Rosabell! then too you call'd With which thou chain'st the youthfui heart,
On that God for to witness your truth, And fempe'st to tread thy thorny ways; And swore none e'er printed his kiss on your I know as faise thy prospects glare breast,
As fits the meteor through the air, And swore by none other your lips had been With quick and transient blaze.
press'd, Nor by warrior, by eld, nor by youth;
When Splendour 'midst thy throng unfuris
Her gaudy banner to the wind; " And you call'd on that God, that, if false to And Honour, pointing to thy sky-crown'd our vows,
steep, You might ne'er to the altar be led,
Maddens with potent spells the brain; But clasp in your arms somie grim corse for They see not where, in Misry's chasm deep, your spouse,
Her victim Disappointment hurls ; And your bed be the bed of the dead.
They see not, past thy noisy train, "Now Ros beil, Rosabell, false are your vows, Despair and Frenzy lurk behind !
And you'l ue'er to the altar be led, But clasp in your arms my grim corse for
Thou bidst the hero's breast with ardour
glow, And your bed be the bed of the dead.
And onward press unknown to fear,
Unknown to Picy's trembling fear; "I sough: Palestine, in the battle was slain, Seeking thv path thro' hosts of slairs, But, Rosabell, you knew it not;
And bounding o'er the gory plain, But was struck with the riches and glitter so As Glory calls him still pursuing, vain,
Calous to tender Mercy's suing, Or Esbest the lovely, the wealthy young On'vard still thou bidst him steer; swain,
'Till, staid amid his bold career, And your vows to a warrior forgot. He falls-he groans--and sinks beneath the # Then come to your bed, to the bed of the
deadly blow. dead,
Prompted by thee the tyrant grasps at pow's, And clasp in your arms my grim corse : Nor bears his suff'ring country's moans, You shall eat at your wedding the penitent's Nor '
hears the thousand thousand groans bread,
Which bid hinn liberty restore ; And drink of the cup of remorse."
Faction's clam'rous, troubled band, The grey cock crow'd, away he strode, And dire Oppression blast the land, And Rosabell ne'er was seen more :
'Till Justice hears the nation's cries, Young Egbert he left not the dreary abode, And 'neath her lifted axe the mighty feios But senseless he sunk on the floor.
dies. 'The morning broke, the youth awoke, For thee the poet wastes his youth "O Rosabell!"' faintly he cried,
Amid the night's chill gloom : " With ghastly look, the fiend has took
For thee he scorns the listless joys My lovely, lovely hride."
Wnich laughing Pleasure's vot'ries prize, 'Long was he sad, and then grew mad,
And seeks to triumph o'er the tomb; And then young Egbert he died;
Bui ch! he feels the freezing hand Since when each e'en, by hands unseen,
Of proud Contempt—his hopes disperse, This castle has been destroy'd.'
And Pemury's haggard spectre-band
His tender bosom pierce : O warder, warder," the stranger cried,
See his fiery eye-bails roll! “ Tis a deadly tale you tell; And long shall I think on this castle destroy'd. Now, sunk in grief, his noble soul
Frenzy marks him for her own ;To punish the falsehood, to punish the pride
Mourus each fond vision flown : Of its lady, the gay Rosabell."
rive county. Such tales of corror are perhaps The incidents of the above ballad, which ridiculous, but they have their admirers, and are similar to Mr. Lewis's Alonzo and Imo- to those it is inscribed. gene, are taken from a tale related in my name
A LADY TO HER HUSLAVD.
HOW slowly pass the redious house,
Ti vouth 1 la:c away;
To nail the joyous way,
Vy Chares shall hither speed,
Of all her hopes the meed.
In this our mortal state,
And happy be our fate.
To you no pangs should give:
Secure of yours I live.
In vain to injure me:
They rob me not of thee. MARIA.
A SUMMER'S DAY.
HOW sweet to rcre at early morn,
To scelt the balony gule,
Anjiread the iloxiy vale.
Their marin hans prepare,
Their Iwaker's pow's declare.
Would lose their art to charm,
Lean fondly on iny arm.
Nor sorrow-but by nanie :
Our pleasures all the same. Sometimes, beside the babbling brook,
We lure the finny tribe.
And Florio throws the bribe.
And now dark Melancholy wears his frame;
In deep despondency he sinks, And owns no more the magic of a name.
Hence then, Ambition! demon, hence!
Haunt no more my humble bow'r; Too well I know thy pl a acons lead
To many a troubicd hour !
SOFT Night, with mysteries replets,
Nowy sheds her silent ters;
Amid the starry spheres.
A mild and friendly ray;
Diffuses mimic day.
Each star puts forts its light;
The beauties of the night.
And ev'ry breeze is stil; Old Boreas too is lollid to rest
Echind the northern hill.
Bold Fancy har her fight begun
With airy pinians spread ;
By god-like Reason led.
1 What wonders meet my eyes ; Whether I scrutinise the pain,
Or read the ample skies.
How plasd am I to find,
To gratity the mind.
Thus Nature's mysteries to trace
Surely old Time beguiles; For lo!'Aurora shew's her face,
The rosy morning smiles.
Bright Phæbus darts his infant ray
Across the si very plain;
Begins his matin strain.
At eve, together still, we rove
The nightingale to hear, Who sweetly chants the notes of love,
So trenulously clear.