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Thus round the Fair, the Gay, the Young)
By Beauty's meteor light betray'd,

The flattering Sons of Fashion throng,
In search of charms that soon shall fade:

While Virtue, Innocence, and Truth,

The tenants of the simple cot,
In cold neglect consume their youth,

Unsought, deserted, or forgot.

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.

Shall Man of frail fruition boast?
Shall life be counted dear,
Oft but a moment, and at most
A momentary year i

There was a time,—that time is past,
When, Youth! I bloom'd like thee;

A time will come, 'tis coming fast,

When thou shalt fade like me:

Like me thro' varying seasons range,
And past enjoyments mourn;
For ah 1 the sweetest Spring shall change
To Winter in its turn.

In Infancy, my vernal prime,
When life itself was new,
Amusement pluck'd the wings of Time,-
Yet swifter still he flew.

Summer, my youth, succeeded soon,
My sun ascended high,
And Pleasure held the reins till noon,
—But Grief drove down the sky.

Like Autumn, rich in ripening corn,
Came Manhood's sober reign;
My harvest-moon scarce fill'd her horn,
When she began to wane.

Then follow'd Age, infirm Old Age,
The winter of my year:
When shall 1 fall before his rage,
To rise beyond the sphere!

I long to cast the chains away,
That bind me down to earth;
To burst these dungeon-walls of clay,
And start to second birth.

Life lies in embryo,—never free
Till Nature yields her breath,
Till Time becomes Eternity,
And Man is born in death I

ALCJEVS.

SHEFFIELD.

EUPHROSYNE.

BY THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESQ.

Says Venus one day to her vagabond son,"Where so fast, you sly rogue, with those darts do you run? "What unfortunate Maid have you destined to die "By the grace of a limb, or the glance of an eye? "Is Woman your aim?—Prithee, tell me the truth: "Or hast thou resolv'd that some innocent youth "Should burn by the torch that you wave in your

hand i "Though small be its flame, 'tis a terrible brand."

The undutiful boy to his mother replies, "What boots it to you by my arrow who dies? "Or whom by my torch I've resolv'd to destroy, "An unfortunate Maid, or an innocent Boy? "But since, like your son, you are curious to know, "I'll tell you the business that takes me below. "A Poet there lives in a place, where a tree "Over-shadows the door, and his death I decree. "Not always I feign with my tears and my tricks; "And I swear by the flood of implacable Styx, "I'll roast him alive for my pastime to-morrow, "For Woe is my joy, and my pleasure is Sorrow."

"Tormentor of Maids, and Destroyer of Men," (Resumes the gay Queen, as she questions again,) "With your joys and your woes will you never have

done i "And when did the Poet offend you, my son t "Should Song and the Muses refine with their fire "The soul of the Bard, and their raptures inspire, "Must he die for your sport? and has Mischief decreed"On Feeling's own altar its vi&im should bleed? "Ah, spare him!—But when were you known to hear reason?"Though frequent your visits, they're never in season. "Yet mind me for once.—I'm in search of a dove, "That one of my Graces purloin'd from a Love. "I miss'd it this morn; and it certainly flew "To the regions below with that hussey Miss Eu. "If the thief and the theft to my arms you restore, "A kiss shall be yours, or perhaps something more." Her grief he regards with a laugh, and " Ah-hah! "'Tis little you know of the matter, Mamma," Rejoin'd the young rogue. "Don't you know it was I "Sent Phrossy to earth with your dove from the sky? "Sweet Vhrossy! whose taste and whose elegance

stole "FromViRTUE herGrace—the mild grace of the soul. "Nor grieve, dear Mamma, that the fugitive Eu "Gives one grace to earth, while the skies have theii

two. "Your dove she conceals in the heaven of her breast,"And that Mansion of Peace he mistakes for his nest. "To ** they flew: I directed them there,"And all that behold shall adore and despair."The Poet shall pray; but his prayer shall be vaiu; "lie never knew pleasure who never knew pain."To-morrow he dies! and I'll sharpen his thorn "- With the sting of Disdain, and the arrow of Scorn. "In ** 's loved person strike home to his heart,"And Eu pauosYN E's self shall determine the dart."

THE PROPHECY.

BY TIM CUMULUS SWIFT, ESQ.

When seven green years (ah me! to mourn the day
That I should live !) had cloathed my tender frame,

Love's cruel god with bow and arrow came,
And thus in sonnet sad to me did say,

SONNET.

"Ah, luckless boy! to care and sorrow born,

"Thy life's full cup with bitter tears shall flow; "The Muse shall smile upon thy lettered morn,

"Shall smile—and smiling, sharpen every woe. "A maid, the fairest of the rural train,

"Her breast all virtue, as her brow divine, "Thy soul shall love—thy soul shall love in vain.

"Alas! poor boy, no happiness is thine. "Yes; her young Graces shall adorn thy lays,

"Charming the raptures of thy faithful lyre:

"Yet not thy raptures, not thy fondest fire "Shall win the adverse maid.—Or peace or joy "Expect not thou: nor dare thy hope to raise

"Beyond her coldest smile. —Farewell, poor boy!" Ah! I remember the Prophetic strain, And drag with endless sorrow **'s chain.

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