Oh! breathe not, winds! Still be the water's motion!
Sleep, fleep, my bark! in filence on the main :
So when to-morrow's light fhall gild the ocean,
Once more mine eyes, fhall fee the coaft of Spain.
Vain is the wish! My laft petition fcorning,
Fresh blows the gale, and high the billows fwell:
Far fhall we be before the break of morning:
Oh! then, for ever, native Spain, farewell!

FIDELE.

BY MR. COLLINS.

Toft maids and village hinds fhall bring
fair Fidele's graffy tomb

Each op'ning fweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghoft fhall dare appear,

To vex, with fhrieks, this quiet grove;

But fhepherd-lads affemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch fhall here be seen,

No goblins lead their nightly crew;"
The female fays fhall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.
The red-breast oft, at ev'ning hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary mofs and gather'd flow'rs,

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds and beating rain,
In tempefts, shake the fylvan cell,
Or 'midft the chafe, on ev'ry plain,
The tender thought on thee fhail dwell.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly fhed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,

And mourn'd till Pity's felf be dead.

ELIZA.

BY DR. DARWIN.

NOW flood ELIZA on the wood-crown'd height,
O'er Minden's plains, fpectatrefs of the fight;
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody ftrife,
Her dearer felf, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rufhing hoft purfu'd,
And view'd his banner, or believ'd fhe view'd.
Pleas'd with the diftant roar, with quicker tread,
Fast by his hand one lisping boy fhe led;
And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm,
Slept on her 'kerchief, cradled by her arm;
While round her brows bright beams of honour dart,
And love's warm eddies circle round her heart.

-Near and more near th' intrepid beauty prefs'd,
Saw, through the driving fmoke, his dancing creft,
Heard the exulting fhout, "They run! they run!"
"Great GOD!" the cry'd, "he's fafe! the battle's won!"
A ball now hiffes through the airy tides,
(Some fury wing'd it, and fome demon guides!)
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and finks into her neck;
The red ftream, iffuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her iv'ry bofom stains.-
"Ah me!" fhe cry'd, and, finking on the ground,
Kifs'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound,
"Oh! ceafe not yet to beat, thou vital urn!
"Wait gufhing life, oh! wait my love's return!-
"Hoarfe barks the wolf, the vulture fcreams from far!
"The angel, Pity, fhuns the walks of war!-
"Oh! fpare, ye war-hounds, fpare their tender age!-
"On me, on me," fhe cry'd, "exhauft your rage!
Then, with weak arms, her weeping babes carefs'd,
And, fighing, hid them in her blood-ftain'd veft.

From tent to tent th' impatient warrior flies,
Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes;
Eliza's name along the camp he calls,
Eliza echoes through the canvas walls;

Quick through the murm'ring gloom his footsteps tread, O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,

Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,
Lo! dead ELIZA welt'ring in her blood!-

-Soon hears his lift'ning fon the welcome founds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds:-
"Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand,
"ELIZA fleeps upon the dew-cold fand;
"Poor weeping babe, with bloody fingers prefs'd,
"And try'd, with pouting lips, her milkless breast!
"Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake-

66

Why do you weep?-mama will foon awake." "She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cry'd, Upturn'd his eyes, and clafp'd his hands, and figh'd; Stretch'd on the ground awhile entranc'd he lay, And prefs'd warm kiffes on the lifeless clay; And then upfprung with wild convulfive ftart, And all the father kindled in his heart: "Oh, Heav'ns !" he cry'd, 66 my firft rafh vow forgive! "These bind to earth, for thefe I pray to live!" Round his chill babes he wrapt his crimson veft, And clafp'd them fobbing to his aching breast.

SLAVERY.

BY THE SAME.

HARK! heard ye not that piercing cry,
Which fhook the waves and rent the sky?
E'en now, e'en now, on yonder western shores,
Weeps pale Defpair, and writhing Anguish roars:
E'en now in Afric's groves, with hideous yell,
Fierce SLAV'RY ftalks, and flips the dogs of hell;
From vale to vale the gath'ring cries rebound,
And fable nations tremble at the found!

YE BANDS OF SENATORS! whofe fuffrage sways
Britannia's realms, whom either Ind obeys;
Who right the injur'd, and reward the brave,
Stretch your ftrong arm, for ye have pow'r to fave!
Thron'd in the vaulted heart, his dread refort,
Inexorable CONSCIENCE holds his court;

With still small voice the plots of Guilt alarms,
Bares his mask'd brow, his lifted hand difarms :
But, wrapp'd in night with terrors all his own,
He fpeaks in thunder, when the deed is done.
Hear him, ye Senates! hear this truth fublime,
HE, WHO ALLOWS OPPRESSION, SHARES
THE CRIME.'

No radiant pearl, which crested Fortune wears,
No gem, that twinkling hangs from Beauty's ears,
Not the bright ftars, which night's blue arch adorn,
Nor rifing funs, that gild the vernal morn,
Shine with fuch luftre as the tear, that breaks,
For other's woe, down Virtue's manly cheeks.

VIRTUE AN ORNAMENT.

THE

BY J. FORDYCE, D. D.

HE diamond's and the ruby's rays
Shine with a milder, finer flame,
And more attract our love and praise
Than beauty's felf, if loft to fame.
But the fweet tear in pity's eye

Tranfcends the diamond's brightest beams;
And the foft blush of modefty

More precious than the ruby seems.

The glowing gem, the fparkling ftone,
May ftrike the fight with quick furprize;
But truth and innocence alone

Can ftill engage the good and wife.

No glitt'ring ornament or show
Will ought avail in grief or pain!
Only from inward worth can flow
Delight that ever shall remain.
Behold, ye fair, your lovely queen!
'Tis not her jewels, but her mind;
A meeker, purer, ne'er was feen;
It is her virtue charms mankind!

WHAT

TO HENRY,

BY ELIZA.

HAT filver founds, melodious, meet my ear, And mourn, refponfive, on the fighing gale, Dropping, fo fweetly fad, the pitying tear,

O'er the foft forrows of a recent tale.

Ah me! no fancy'd woes I hold to view;

The woe-fraught fcene is prattled round the coaft;
Too true, alas! and pity 'tis, 'tis true-
William and Mary were together loft!

Nay, ftart not, Henry, for 'twas half conceal'd;
The fimple facts too copious for my line:
Liften,-ah! lift,-the reft fhall be reveal'd-
Thou wilt not grudge to mingle tears with mine.

Oh! it will coft me many a pang, I ween,
To trace their infant loves, each childish joy,
When little Mary gambol'd o'er the

green
With her lov'd William, then a fair-hair'd boy.

Fresh, like the rofy morn, his cherub face,

And, like the berry dark, his laughing eyes;
And Mary's too beam'd fweet with kindred grace,
The foft mild blue that paints the azure skies.

Oft hand in hand they rambled o'er the plain,
And fill'd their little laps with ftore of flow'rs;
And oft purfu'd the gilded fly in vain-

Thefe were the paftimes of their earliest hours.

But war's fhrill clarion rous'd the youth to arms→
To gain for Mary wealth and fair renown:
Sighing he tore him from her blooming charms,
And left her weeping, joylefs, and forlorn.

Full oft retiring from the noify throng,

To hide from vulgar eyes the ftruggling tear, He breath'd his conftant vows in artlefs fong, And pour'd the trembling numbers on her ear. So the lone bird, within the grove retir'd,

Trills her fweet notes, the thorn within her breast :