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Perhaps some gay Lothario now is laid
In “narrow cell,” and freed from mortal care: . Perhaps some charining, artless, lovely maid,
Her sex's pride, the fairest of the fair. .
Ah! what is beauty, what is elegance?
What is the radiance of the brightest eye? When death begins to lead the awful dance*,
We turn to dust, and are but vanity.
Say, can bright beauty's magic power save
Its lov'd possessor from the loathsome tomb? 0! while ambitiou's colours round us wave,
Can we escape th' inevitable doom?
Nor wealth, nor power, nor proud looks avail,
Inexorable Death no favour shows;
That leads to endless joys, or endless woes.
* Alluding to Hans Holbcin's painting of the “Dance
THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY.
To Maria, on reading to her Sterne's beautifui Story
of that Name.
As Sterne's pathetic tale you hear,
Why rudely check the rising sigh? Why seek to hide the pitying tear,
Whose lustre aids the brilliant eye?
Tears which lament another's woe,
Unveil the goodness of the heart; Uncheck’d, unheeded these should flow
They please beyond the pow'r of art.
Does not yon crimson-tinted rose,
Whose op’ning blush delights the view, More splendid colouring disclose,
When brightly gemm'd with morning dew?
So shall Maria's heauteous face,
Drest in more pleasing charms appear; When aided by the matchless grace
Of Pity's sympathizing Tear.
SUMMER EVENING'S WALK.
BY THE REV. MR. WHITE.
When day decliving sheds a milder gleam,
To hear the drowsy dor come rushing by With buzzing wing, or hear the cricket cry. To see the feeding bat glance through the wood, To catch the distant falling of the flood; While o'er the cliff the awaken'd churn-owi hung, Through the still gloom protracts his chattering song: While high in air, and pois'd upon his wings, Unseen the soft enamour'd wood-lark sings. These, Nature's works, the curious mind employ, Inspire a soothing melancholy joy: As fancy warms, a pleasing kind of pain Steals o'er the cheek, and thrills the creeping vein! Each rural sight, each sound, each smell, combine, The tinkling sheep-bell; or the breath of kine: The new-inown hay that scents the swelling breeze, Or cottage chimney smoking through the trees. The chilling night-dews fallaway, retire, For see, the glow-worm lights her amorous fire: Then ere night's veil had half obscured the sky, Th’impatient damsel hung her lamp on high; True to the signal, by love's meteor led, Leander hasten'd to his Hero's bed.
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD.
BY THE REV, J. MOIR.
Aul whither bast thou flown, delightful boy,