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ELIZA, So ftood Eliza on the wood-crown’d height,

O’er MINDEN's plain, fpectatress of the fight; Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody ftrife, Her dearer self, the partner of her life; From hill to hill, the rushing host pursu'd, And view'd his banner-or believ'd the view'd! Pleas'd with the diftant roar, with quicker tread, Faft by her hand, one lisping boy the 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

dartAnd love's warm eddies circle round her heart ! Near, and more near, th' intrepid beauty press’d, Saw, thro' the driving smoke, his dancing creft ; Saw on his helm her virgin hands inwove, Bright stars of gold, and myftic knots of LOVE; Heard the exulting shout-"They run! they run!" * Great God!' fhe cry’d, he's safe! the battle's

won!' A ball now hisses thro' the airy tides Some fury wing'd it, and some dæmon guides! Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear, and links into her neck; The red-fiream issuing from her azure veins, Dies her white veil, heriv'ry bofom stains:

Ah, me!' she cry'd; and, finking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound:« Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn;

Wait, gushing life-oh, wait my love's return! • Hoarfe barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far, " The angel Pity shuns the walks of war: . Oh, spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age! « On me, on me,' she cry'd, rexhaust your rave! Then with weak arms her weeping babes caref*d, And, fighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd ver From tent to tent, th' impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and phrenfy in his eyes:


Eliza's name along the camp he calls-
ELIZA echoes thro' the canvas walls;
Quick thro’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 liftning fon the welcome sounds;
With open

arms and sparkling eyes he bounds :Speak low,” he cries; and gives his little hand: “ ELIZA Neeps upon the dew-cold sand;” Poor weeping babe, with bloody fingers press’d, And try’d, with pouting lips, her milkless breaft: “ Alas, we both with cold and hunger quake! “ Why do you weep?-Mama will soon awake.”

She'll wake no more !' the hopeless mourner cry'd, U pturn'd his eyes, and clasp'd his hands, and figh’d: Stretch'd on the ground, awhile, entranc'd he lay, And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay; And then up-fprung, with cold, convulsive startAnd all the father kindled in his heart: • Oh, heav’n’s!' he cry'd, 'my tirst rath vow forgive, These bind to earth-for THESE I pray to live ! Round his chill babes he wrapp'd his crimson veft, And clasp'd them, fobbing, to his aching breast.

THE WOODBINE. THO' from thy bank of velvet borne,

Hang not, fair flow'r, thy drooping crest; MARIA's bofom thou shalt find

The softest-sweetest bed of reft. Tho' from mild zephyrs’ kiss no more

Ambrosial balms thou shalt inhale, Her gentle breath, whene'er she fighs,

Shall fan thee with a purer gale. But thou be thankful for that blifs,

For which in vain a thousand burn, And as thou fealest fweets from her, Give back thy choicest in return

CHARITY. DID sweeter founds adorn my flowing tongue,

Than ever man pronounc'd, or angels fung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I pow'r to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth:
Did SHADRACH's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which ISRAEL faw
When moses gave them miracles and law:
Yet, gracious CHARITY! indulgent guest,
Were not thy pow'r exerted in iny breaft,
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;
That fcorn of life, would be but wild despair;
A tymbal's found were better than my voice;
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.

Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile SHAME, and arbitrary PRIDE.
Not foon provok'd, the easily forgives;
And much the suffers, as the much believes.
Soft PEACE she brings wherever the arrives ;
She builds our quiet, as the forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevith nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heav'n.

Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bound and due restriction knows;
To one fixt purpose dedicates its pow'r,
And, finishing its act, exifts no more.
Thus, in obedience to what heav'n decrees,
KNOWLEDGE shall fail, and PROPHECY Thall cease;
But lasting CHARITY's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph thall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

As through the artist's intervening glass, Our eye observes the diftant planets pafs,

A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unfeen, than art can show:
So, whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
Its feeble eye intent on things above,
High as we may, we lift our REASON up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by HOPE :
Yet we are able only to furvey.
Dawning of beams, and promises of day,
Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzl'd fight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.

But soon the mediate clouds shall be difpellid,
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated fublime on his meridian throne.

Then, constant FAITH, and holy hope shall die; One loft in certainty, and one in joy Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair CHARITY, Triumphant fifter, greatest of the three, Thy office and thy nature still the same, Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame, Shalt still survive Shalt stand before the host of heav'n confest, For ever blessing, and for ever bleft.

OH! that the chemift's magic art

Could chrystallize this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.
The little brilliant, ere it fell,
Its lustre caught from chloe's eye;
Then, trembling, left its coral cell
The spring of SENSIBILITY!
Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!
In thee the rays of virtue shine;
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the foul!
Who ever fly'st to bring relief,
When firit the feels the rude controul
Of Love or pity, joy or GRIEF.
The sage's and the poet's theme,
In ev'ry clime, in ev'ry, age;
Thou charm'ft in fancy's idle dream,
In REASON's philofophic page.
That very law* which moulds a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source,
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.

THE WILLING SLAVE. On an AFRICAN WOMAN, whose favourite boy was kidnapped

by the crew of a boat. The SAILORS, moved by the distress of the MOTHER, would have restored the child; but the MATE, whose heart was rendered callous by long practice in this degrading traffic, chose to retain him, obferving, that the agonies of the MOTHER would induce her to become A voLUNTARY SLAve rather than part with him. It happened as he said. OH, HENRY! didft thou hear in vain

The moving tale the captain told :Go, then, and heap the fordid gain,

And sell thy fellow-men for gold ! Yet, when the dingy mother rov'd

With eager step, and fought her child, E’en sailors, stern of heart, were mov'd

With her fad moan and gestures wild. “ Give her, her boy, poor fool!” they cry'd :

" Why agonize a tender mind ?"Harpoon'd! harpoon'd! the mate reply'd:

• Slack fail!—she'll not be long behind.' 'Twas fo :-she kiss'd her children dear,

Beckon'd the boat across the wave
Yielded herself (to share the tear
With her loft boy)--a WILLING SLAVE!

* The law of gravitation.

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