"Tis our Jehovah fills the heav'ns; as long Our lovely mourner, kneeling, lifts her eyes, Here Guilford, cruel Guilford! (barb'rous man! • Oh! let thy thought o'er our past converse rove, • And fhew one moment uninflam'd with love! • Oh! if thy kindness can no longer last, In pity to thyself forget the paft! Elfe wilt thou never, void of fhame and fear, • Pronounce his doom whom thou haft held fo dear. Thou, who haft took me to thy arms, and swore • Empires were vile, and Fate could give no more; • That to continue was it's utmost pow'r, • And makehe future like the present hour: Now call a ruffian, bid his cruel fword Lay wide the bofom of thy worthlefs lord; • Transfix his heart (fince you it's love disclaim) And ftain his honour with a traitor's name. This might perhaps be borne without remorse, • But fure a father's pangs will have their force! Shall his good age, fo near it's journey's end, • Thro' cruel torment to the grave defcend? His fhallow blood all iffue at a wound, Wash a flave's feet, and smoke upon the ground? But he to you has ever been severe ; Then take your vengeance Suffolk now drew near, Bending beneath the burden of his care, His robes neglected, and his head was bare. Thus flowly creeps to meet the blooming Spring: Thrice turn'd to hide his grief, then faintly spoke. • That axe can only rob me of a day: ; For thee, my foul's defire! I can't refrain My heart's distress no longer will you blame!' Hard-hearted men! will you no mercy know? As round the gen'rous eagle, which in vain While yet the blow's first dreadful weight the feels, Large doors, unfolding with a mournful found, Three headless trunks of thofe whofe arms maintain'd, The lifted axe affur'd her ready doom, • Your over-fondness has not mov'd my hate; Here the embraces them. Then, Then, turning to the ministers of Fate, A poor return I leave in England's crown, • For everlasting pleasure and renown : Her guilt alone allays this happy hour; • Her guilt the only vengeance in her pow'r !' EFFUSIONS T OF MELANCHOLY. BY MISS ROBERTS. HE filent tear, that fteals adown the cheek; The heart-felt figh, that heaves and is suppress'd: These figns the anguifh of the mind befpeak, And fhew the forrow lab'ring in my breast. At times, before my fad deluded eye Some dancing gleams of flatt'ring hope appear; But foon the airy vifions diftant fly, Thofe tranfient phantoms, chac'd by black Despair! That gloomy tyrant now resumes his feat, O'er my fad foul extends his racking sway; Obedient to his will my pulfes beat, And meet with rifing grief each new-born day. Fictitious fmiles, that dimple o'er my face, (Light covering of a heart with woe replete !) How oft the starting tears your charms deface! And fighs, half fmother'd, tell the vain deceit. Oh! could my feeling foul, from earth refin❜d, Reach the bright manfions of eternal reft; To Heaven each fublunary with refign'd; No more fhould paffions fwell this beating break! Thefe eyes, from whence the briny ftreams have flow'd, Efk, murm'ring thro' the dusky pines, And Fancy chills, where'er it fhines, To fee pale ghofts obfcurely gleam. Not |