I meet her ever in the cheerless cell, The hollow gale, and hoarse-resounding flood. This caus'd a mother's tender tears to flow, Full well the then prefag'd my wretched fate, Yet ne'er did her maternal voice unfold Ah! could the view her only child betray'd, Alas! fhe might not---her relentless lord Had feal'd her lips, and chid her streaming tear; So anguish in her breast conceal'd its hoard, And all the mother funk in dumb despair. 40 But thou, who own'st a father's facred name, What act impell'd thee to this ruthless deed? What crime had forfeited my filial claim? And giv'n (oh blasting thought!) thy heart to bleed? If then thine injur'd child deserve thy care, Oh haste, and bear her from this lonesome gloom! In vain----no words can footh his rigid ear; And Gallia's laws have rivetted my doom. Ye cloifter'd fair----ye cenfure-breathing faints, I fled not to this manfion's deep recefs Yet let me to my fate fubmiffive bow; From fatal fymptoms if I right conceive, This ftream, Ophelia, has not long to flow, Ah! when extended on th' untimely bier, To yonder vault this form shall be convey'd, Thou'lt not refufe to fhed one grateful tear, And breathe the requiem to my fleeting shade. With pions footstep join the fable train, As through the lengthening ile they take their way, A glimmering taper let thy hand sustain, Thy foothing voice attune the funeral lay : Behold the minister who lately gave The facred veil, in garb of mournful hue, (More friendly office) bending o'er my grave, And fprinkling my remains with hallow'd dew: As o'er the corfe he ftrews the rattling duft, HYMN ON SOLITUDE. BY THOMSON. HAIL, mildly pleasing Solitude! Oh! how I love with thee to walk, And listen to thy whisper'd talk, And melts the most obdurate hearts. A thousand shapes you wear with ease, Now quick from hill to vale you fly, Thine is the balmy breath of morn, Defcending angels bless thy train, Religion's beams around thee shine, And cheer thy glooms with light divine: And rapt Urania fings to thee. Oh! let me pierce thy fecret cell, And in thy deep receffes dwell. I just may cast my careless eyes ODE TO SENSIBILITY. THANKS HANKS to thee, Nymph, whose powerful hand Thy praises I'll for ever fing, Sweet Senfibility. Thy touch, fo gentle and benign, Revives the torpid heart, Thou pleasure canft from pain refine, To joys new joy impart. By thee the gaudy rainbow shows More beauties to the eye, |