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And these reflections make me loath the light That cheers the day, the watches of the night. In fruitless lighs and silent thought I spend, For Somnus never shall my soul befriend; But when his downy wings are o'er me spread, Vain dreams inhabit my disorder'd head : Stretch'd on a bank of Aow'rs methinks I lie In calm repose, beneath a purple sky; No noise is heard, no rude re-murinuring rill; The woods' wild race, and all the winds are still; 'Tis then some flute (far off) awakes my pain, While soft and sweet is sung this pleasing strain: (My lovely Jane advancing to my side, Her charms all swelling to their native pride, . Her graceful locks and garments all unloos’d, Her breasts, and every wond'rous charm, expos’d) “ Lift up thy streaming eyes, now cease to mourn, “ Behold thy fondest wish-thy Jane, return; « Her the kind Gods on thee again bestows, “ To crown thy mighty love, and end thy woes.”

The golden dream my joyful foul deceives, And for one kind embrace a thousand lives I'd give, Elate I strive to catch my beauteous fair, But ah! I grasp uncorporeal air; Then swells my heart, and pain obstructs my breath, I wake to weep, and wish in vain for death; . .

I rise,


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I rise, and wandering seek to find relief, Mourn to the winds, and tell the stars my grief. O! then my Wife, the softest, dearest name A feeling heart can give, or love can claim, Hear me complain, for once my sorrow know, And feel my wrongs, for 'tis a debt you owe; For you, my fair, whenever you complain’d, These arms enfolded, and this breast sustain'd; The rugged road of life for you I smooth’d, Drank all your tears, your griefs with kisses sooth’d, Your gentle soul to peaceful Numbers fung, And o'er your neep with watchful fondness hung. Thy causeless flight hath ruin'd thy good name, Broke all thy vows, and fill'd my face with shame, My heart with deepest woe, my eyes with tears, · Thy friends and parents with distracting fears: O! would'st thou come, and hear our mournful tale, See how we're chang'd! how sorrowful! how pale! Thy tender breast would strong relentings find, For thou wast always pitiful and kind. 0! leave the court before the storm is nigh, Thy stars may frown, or England's king may die; Heaven, to avenge my cause, may wrath employ, Envy prevail, or jealousy destroy: Think-EDWARD has a queen--(alas! for she One tear shall fall constrain’d by fympathy)


To her alone are his embraces due,
That love is sinful he extends on you;
Ponder what rage in her this must create,
O! heav'n for ever save thee from her hate,
And soon restore thee to my longing heart:
O! come, the thought doth extacies impart,
No murmur shall be heard, no tear be seen,
Nor whisper say how cruel thou haft been.
But this our fates deny, O! cruel fate!
For thou wilt live ador’d in regal state,
Know all the pleasures that from pomp can spring,
The envy'd darling of a mighty king;
But if, when years are o'er, thy pomp and power
Remain the same, if then some midnight hour,
In thought’s revolving glass shall calmly show
Thee fortunes past, and seasons long ago,
Griefs, joys, compassions, thro' thy mind shall roll,
And if, in the reflections of thy soul,
(With pleasure cloy'd, and sinking into rest)
One tender thought of ine shall fill thy breast,
How once I lov'd and left my native home,
Prompt by despair thro' the wide world to roam,
Think then thou seest me on fome stormy coast,
By tempests beaten, and by surges tost;
Or pale and breathless on some shore unknown,
And for the faithful love that I have shown;


(Tho' folded in a Neeping king's embrace)
A tear shall trickle down thy lovely face.
Too late thou mayst the cruel wrongs deplore
Of thy unhappy husband—Matthew SHORE.





- House haunted—the inhabitants frighten

I ed—and a ghost rattling his chains, are circumstances that are constantly reiterated to us in our infancy, and that makes such an impression upon our minds, as is extremely difficult to eradicate. The most rational men of all nations have agreed in disbelieving stories of this fort, which appear only the effects of fancy, and cannot be defended from the principles of religion, reason, or philosophy. They were first invented, perhaps, from a pious intention to keep mankind in awful reverence of heaven, and to affix a thorough belief of a future state.

Among the many extravagant opinions which, in religious matters, have been entertained in the world, I 2


the mortality of the foul was a doctrine that was fufficiently prevalent in the days of Tully, to oblige him to a declaration of his own sentiments on that head. He says, Neque enim assentior iis, qui bæc nuper asserere cæperunt, cum corporibus fimul ani" mas interire, atque omnia, morte deleri,I can

not agree with those, who have lately begun to e assert that our souls perish with our bodies, and

that death destroys all our faculties. Bold and uncommon assertions are too often received with applause; but an assertion of this kind takes away the most comfortable prospect that human nature is capable of enjoying. It encourages the most impious practices that can be devised, and it imprints an idea of the Supreme Being absolutely repugnant to the wisdom, benignity, and goodness, that so visibly display themselves throughout the works of the creation. It is impossible, indeed, to join with Pliny in the credit he gives to fabulous accounts of ghosts and preternatural apparitions: on the other hand, it is equally impossible to conceive that our foul perishes entirely, and after a severe trial of threescore or fourscore years, moulders, like our body, into dust. We perceive in ourselves, and in all our species, a natural desire of complete and perfect happiness. Every action of our lives tends to this ultimate end. Our thoughts and faculties are


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