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IDYLLIUM.

THE PRISON.

BY DR. DARWIN.

O, welcome, Debtor! in these walls
Thy cares, and joys, and loves forego!
Approach, a brother Debtor calls,
And join the family of woe!

Did Fortune with her frowning brow
Thy late and early toils withstand ?
Or Slander strike the fatal blow,
Or griping Usury's iron hand?

Say, does a wife, to want consign'd,

While weeping babes surround her bed, Peep through, and see the fetters bind Those hands, that earn'd their daily bread?

Does she in vain, on knees that bend,
The marble heart of Wealth implore?
Breathless pursue some flying friend,
Or beat in vain the closing door?

Look

up, and share our scanty meal; For us some brighter hours may flow, Some angel break these bolts of steel,

For HOWARD marks and feels our woe.

A CHARACTER.

HIGH on the throne of monarchy so late
Revers'd, he sits in pomp majestical,

By nature form'd to win his way to greatness.
Prompt to conceive and undertake whate'er
With difficulty and hazard might be atchiev'd
By mortal prowess; in the braying din
Of civil strife, or on th' embattled plain,
Midst charging squadrons and the cannon's roar,
Alike undaunted he-nor for the means

Car'd, so he attain'd the height he soar'd to.
For no soft pang of pity or remorse

E'er touched his rugged bosom; witness thou
Ravag'd Ausonia, and ye fertile plains

Of Egypt, whitening with th' untombed bones
Of those his undistinguishing revenge

Gave to the edge of the sword.-Cloudy his brow,
Haggard his visage, and bespeaks a mind
Where Care and cold Mistrust for ever dwell;
Unsated Pride, and fierce Ambition, still
Hatching pernicious counsels to disturb
The peace of wasted Europe, and provoke
The storms which best uphold his doubtful sway.
Yet he can well dissemble; can disguise
His dangerous intent, confounding still
His haughty projects with the general good.
So reigns he sovran o'er a people long
By madding Faction vex'd, and dire misrule :

So reigns he-rais'd by deeds of high renown
And favouring chance, girt with the pomp of war.
But not unvisited, if Fame say true,

Of fearful thoughts, that hover round his couch,
And mar his midnight slumbers; nor secure
From vengeance ever plotting to destroy
His usurpation, and the just disdain
That loyalty and honour feel to bend
Submissive at the shrine of tyrannous power.
Nor think we that the Gods look reekless on,
While he enjoys the throne of lawful kings,
Who hath so oft blasphem'd them, and bow'd down
To monstrous deities: and a day will come
For retribution, when the hand of Heaven
Shall blast his vaunted fortune, and his sword,
Wherein he trusted, shall avenge the blood
That cries against him, proving to vain man,
That, though successful guilt triumphs awhile,
Eternal Justice will at length assert
Its rights, and pure Religion vindicate
Her holy altars and unspotted name.

A TRAITOR'S EPITAPH.

Be this dark spot for ever to verdure unknown,
For ever by Virtue and Pity untrod;
Unbreath'd be his name, and unhonour'd his stone,
The foe of his Country, his King and his God!

P. L. C.

ODE,

FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.

SONGSTER Sweet, begin the lay,
Ever new, and ever gay;
Bring the joy-inspiring wine,
Ever fresh and ever fine.

With a heart-alluring lass,
Gaily let the moments pass;
Kisses stealing when you may,
Ever fresh and ever gay.

Gentle boy, whose silver feet
Nimbly move to cadence sweet,
Fill us quick the generous wine,
Ever fresh and ever fine.

How enjoy life's tedious hours
Without wine's seducing powers?
These will make them pass away,
Ever fresh and ever gay.

To me the sweet enchanting maid,
Charis devotes that never fade;
Charms t' inspire her poet's song,
Ever fair and ever young.

Zephyrs! while you gently move
By the mansions of my love,
Softly Hafiz' strains repeat,
Ever new and ever sweet.

JUVENIS.

SONG.

To Hope, that brightest star of Love,
I bid a sorrowful farewell,
For here within this silent grove,
As solemn tolls the evening bell,
I'll mourn his loss and sing his knell.

Or on some moss-grown turf repose,
The dewy light of morn to hail,
Where echoes oft repeat my woes,
As sadly sighs the balmy gale,
To hear my lover's funeral knell.

Spirits! if e'er you wander near

My love's unhallow'd grassy bed,
O bear this soul impassion'd tear,
To grace the relics of the dead;
And say that here you saw me dwell,
To weep and sing his funeral knell.

CAMBRIDGE.

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