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Â¤ pass not here, if thou didst ever know,
The tender touches of impassion'd woe;
Pass not, if truth, and fortitude, and love,
Can stay thy footsteps, or thy spirit move;
Pass not, if ev'ry elegance of soul
Can charm thy senses, or thy steps controul;
Pass not, if more than Roman virtue here,
With more than female softness, claim the tear;
Nor pass, if heav'n-born sympathy have art
To urge the thrilling pulses of the heart;
But if, nor suff'ring worth thy soul can move,
Nor the sweet impulse of a generous love,
If fortitude, with glowing beauty join'd,
Knows not the power to captivate the mind,
If health, if joy, devoted to the tomb,
If life laid down to ward a lover's doom,
If patience, perseverance, ardour, truth,
Blended with ev'ry charm of female youth,
If these, and ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace,
Want power to melt the soul upon thy face,
Then quickly pass-this hallow'd spot forbear,
The feeling heart alone should tarry here.
From the Novel of Emma Corbet.
BY THE LATE BISHOP LOWTH ON HIS DAUGHTER.
CARA, vale, ingenio præstans, pietate, pudore,
Et plusquam natæ, nomine cara, vale!
Cara Maria vale!-at veniet felicius ovum,
Quando iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero.
"Cari redi"-læta tum dicam voce "paternos
Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria, redi.”
DEARER than daughter, parallel'd by few In genius, goodness, modesty-adieu; Adieu, Maria-till that day more blest, When, if deserving, I with thee shall rest. "Come, then," thy sire will cry in joyful strain, "O come to my paternal arms again!"
J. Duncombe, M. A.
ISTRESS me with those tears no more,
One kiss, my love, and then adieu;
The last boat destin'd for the shore,
Waits, dearest girl, alone for you:
Soon, soon before the light winds borne,
Shall I be sever'd from your sight;
You left the lonely hours to mourn,
And weep thro' many a stormy night.
When far along the restless deep,
In trim array the ship shall steer;
Your form remembrance still shall keep,
Your worth affection still revere;
And with the distance from your eyes,
My love for you shall be increas'd;
As to the pole the needle flies,
And farthest off still varies least.
While round the bowl the cheerful crew,
Shall sing of triumphs on the main;
My thoughts shall fondly turn to you,
you alone shall be my strain.
And when we've bound the leaguing foe,
Revengeful for our country's wrong;
Returning home, my heart shall shew,
No fiction grac'd my artless song.
BY A GENTLEMAN IN MARYLAND.
WHEN chilling boreas blows no more,
And snows are melted down;
When gentle zephyr's soft'ning pow'r
Spring's mild advances own;
Or if when scorching Sirius reigns,
And taints the putrid air;
Mindful of health, from sandy plains
To mountains you'll repair.
A mountain bard your steps invites
To shun the baleful rays;
In cooler shades to pass your nights,
In cooler sleep your days;
Where no moschetoes e'er intrude,
No fly disturbs your rest;
Where love alone will dare be rude,
And discompose your breast;
Who haply may soft dreams impart,
And for your lover plead;
With mutual passion touch your heart,
And he be blest indeed.
Come then, fair maid, and bring along
Your gentle grace, and ease,
The sprightly dance, the jocund song,
And all your arts to please.
And if your fair companion deign
The invitation to approve,
A mountain goddess she shall reign,
And wit shall weave the crown of love.
Around her trees will crow'd their shade,
And birds will chaunt a sprightlier lay;
And ev'ry flower, and ev'ry blade,
Will welcome the auspicious day.
Fatal ambition! hapless fate!
Who wedded but to noble strife, Exchanges happiness for state,
And sinks into a wretch for life.
The present hour is all we taste,
Catch the fleet pleasures as they move;
We cannot be too much in haste,
'Tis all we have-to live and love.