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POETRY.

TRANSLATION of an ITALIAN SON.
NET upon an ENGLISH WATCH.
By Mrs. PIO z zr

OH kill'd to meafure day and night!

Small elegant machine;

On which to pore with fix'd delight,

Britannia's Sons are seen :
Time, fell destroyer, holds his place
Triumphant o'er thy wheels,
And on the fair enamel'd face

Imprints each hour he steals.
While one by one the minutes fly,

Touch'd by thy magic hand, Each still reproaching, with a figh, Dull Duty's ling'ring band;

Wouldst thou from thy prolific breast

One hour to me refign, Willing to Fate I'd yield the rest, That hour of blifs be mine!

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Imitated by Mrs. PIOZZI.
WHEN lurking Love in ambush lies
Under Friendship's fair disguife;
When he wears an angry mien,
Imitating fpite or spleen;
When like forrow he feduces,
When like pleasure he amuses,
Still, howe'er the parts are caft,
'Tis but lurking Love at last.

ODE on the SIROC.
By WILLIAM PARSONS, Esq.
IN Britain's Inle thick fogs arise,

With dark'ning wings, that veil the skies,
And blunt the folar ray;

But there fair Freedom's hallow'd shrine,
There arts, and arms, and commerce fhine,
And fhed their brighter day.

For diff'rent charms by poets taught,
Italia's boasted clime I fought,

And trod her flow'ry plain;
The rofe-lip'd Health I hop'd to find,
Thy chearing sky, thy balmy wind!
But now that hope is vain.
What horrid force ufurps the air,
And, leagu'd with anguish and despair,
Impels the fultry gales?
With nerves relax'd, and languid eye,
I see the shrinking Pleasures fly,
The fierce StRac prevails!

* The SIROC is a South-east Wind, the fame as the Latin Syrus, which is much dreaded by the Italians, on account of its oppreffive heat, and the extraordinary melancholy it occafions. AUTHOR,

Mr. Brydone, in his Travels, fays, “The most disagreeable part of the Neapolitan climate is the SIROC, or South-east Wind, which is very common at this season of the year: it is infinitely more relaxing, and gives the vapours in a much stronger degree than the worst of our rainy Novembers. It has now blown for these seven days without intermiffion, and has indeed blown away all our gaiety and fpirits; and if it continues much longer, I do not know what may be the confequence. It gives a degree of laffitude both to the body and mind, that renders them abfolutely incapable of performing their ufual functions. It is not very furprifing that it should produce these effects on a phlegmatic English conftitution; but we have just now an inftance that all the mercury of France must fink under the load of this horrid leaden atmosphere. A smart Parifian Marquis came here about ten days ago: he was fo full of animal fpirits, that the people thought him mad: he never remained a moment in the fame place; but, at their grave converfations, he used to skip about from room to room with fuch amazing elasticity, that the Italians fwore he had got fprings in his fhoes. I met him this morning walking with the ftep of a philofopher, a fmelling-bottle in his hand, and all his vivacity extinguithed. I afked what was the matter. "Ah! mon ami (faid he), je m'ennui a la mort; moi qui n'ai jamais scu l'ennui. Mais cet execrable vent m'accable; et deux jours de plus, et je me pend."

"The natives themfelves do not suffer less than ftrangers; and all nature feems to languish during this abominable wind. A Neapolitan lover avoids his mistress with the utmost care in the time of the SIROC; and the indolence it infpires is almost sufficient to extinguish every paffion. All works of genius are laid afide during its continuance; and when any thing very flat or infipid is produced, the strongst phrase of disapprobation they can bestow is, "Era fcritto in tempo del Sirocco ;" that it was writ in the time of the SIROC."

Far

Far off the fprightly Muse retires,
Defponding damps have quench'd her fires,
And all her joys depart ;

See in their stead terrific spleen
Prefents a wild diforder'd scene,
And shakes th' ideal dart!

Sad images of loft delight,
No more fair Nature's charms invite,
In fighs the zephyrs moan;
Mute are the fongsters of the grove,
Difconfolate the heifers rove,

The waters feem to groan.
E'en Love deferts the drooping plain,
Clofe to his fair the pow'rlefs fwain

Stands with averted gaze;
Nor courts the listless nymph his arms,
Nor fhews with artful lure her charms

The ling'ring flame to raise.

Dire fevers rage-the parched throat
And alter'd pulfe their fway denote,

The foul's opprefs'd with gloom;
And mid fuch woes, with tempting mien,
Pale Suicide, by Fancy feen,

Points to a friendly tomb!

Does he, whom Heaven's avenging ire
Condemn'd to dwell 'mid penal fire,
Here take his destin'd way;
And fend his noxious burning breath,
Loaded with fell difeafe and death,

To blast a scene so gay!
'Tis faid, on fome benighted fhore,
Him, as a god, weak men adore,

Not led by Love but Fear;
Ne'er yet fo dread a cause was known,
To bow before his aweful throne,
His influence felt so near.

But to a higher Pow'r we bend,
Father of all! thy lightnings fend,

His pois'nous breath difpell;
Appal'd the trembling Fiend fhall fly,
Mindful when from th' ethereal sky
Hurl'd by their bolt he fell!

VERSES to Mrs. PIOZZI, Placed under a Print of Dr. Johnson in her

Dining Room at Florence.

By WILLIAM PARSONS, Efq. ¡ROM earth retir'd, and all its empty cares, In brighter fcenes my raptur'd fpirit

shares

The rich rewards that here attend the bleft, Their holy transports, and their fainted reft. For this, fo long, in yon dim fpot confin'd, I gave the nobleft efforts of my mind; Religion's, Truth's, and Virtue's, cause fuftain'd;

And in these bleft abodes my thoughts embrace

With fond affection ftill, the human race; Still in my breaft its wonted ardors glow, And many a wifh I frame for those below: But chief for thee, fair friendship's facred flame,

Unquench'd by death, for ever burns the fame.

While to the British Muses loft fo long,
Far off you liften to Italian song,
Drooping their abfent patroness they mourn,
And fear fuggefts you never will return;
But not, I trust, with such supreme delight
You hear fome hero, panting for the fight,
Thrill out his noble rage and fierce disdain
In the foft quavers of an eunuch's strain ;
For, each just claim allow'd to nice Virtê,
Yet ftill methinks fome small regrets are
due

To martyr'd fenfe, 'mid crouds exulting round,

In folemn pomp, a facrifice to found!
Nor can the manners, falfely call'd refin'd,
Obtain the fanction of your chafter mind:
A British female nurs'd in Virtue's lore,
And early taught her maxims to adore,
Beholds with horror Hymen's facred tye
By intereft form'd, and broke by gallantry!
If then a once lov'd friend may dare advise,
Short be thy stay beneath these southern skies.
Lo Britain courts thee!--In thy native ille
The Virtues flourish, and the Graces fmile.
If fcenes theatric can thy mind engage,
There Shakspeare's mighty fpirit fills the
stage;

A Siddons there the captive bofom thrills,
And melts to pity, or with horror chills:
Or there, if focial pleasures more invite,
Free converfe offers unreftrain'd delight;
Unknown each tyrant prejudice that binds,
In other countries, fubjugated minds,
The fpirit wide diffus'd of equal laws
Exalts the humble and the haughty awes
Thro' every rank the lib'ral flame is spread,
And confcious Independence lifts the head;
While honour'd Merit fees her crouded court,
Of commoners and lords the mix'd refort.
Yet, ere you from Italian plains depart,
Go view the monuments of antient art;
Whate'er adorns fam'd Arno's flowery fide,
Or Tybur's waves reflect with claffick pride;
And all you see, to judge what's good or fair,
With the pure models in your breast com.

pare.

Nor let th' alluring joys of tafte refin'd

That task e'er banish from thy ftedfast mind, That mournful task I once bequeath'd to thee, Which now th' impatient world expects to fee;

(For ne'er my page licentious vice pro- With open zeal the generous care avow, Once my kind friend, be my hiftorian now.

phan’d)

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HYMN to DEATH.

MERRY, Efq.

By
Tranflated from the Hymne a la Mort of
Monf. Marmontel, in Les Incas.

"Homme destiné au travail, a la peine, &
"a la douleur, confole-toi, car tu es mortel."
Man! by fate condemn'd to know
Sad toil, and bitter want and woe,
Confole thyfelf that thou fhalt die :
The morning wakes thee but to grieve,
Thy liftless limbs recline at eve,
Fatigued with life's oppreffive round;
Confole thyfelf, for Death is nigh,
And fweet repofe is in his bofom found.

Obferve upon the tumbling furge
Yon little bark the tempefts urge;
At length attains the peaceful bay,
Secure from winds and ftormy tides,
Safe in the tranquil port it rides.

Where rocks arife, where whirlwinds rave,
Life is, alas! that troubled fea,

The harbour where they ne'er approach-the grave.

Behold the mother's anxious love
Requires her little child to prove,
Left to himself, his idle power;
With ftep unfure, and vain alarms,
Feeble he runs with outstretch'd arms,
Leaps on her neck with panting breath,
And feels his weakness now no more;
That infant's Man, the tender paient Death,

He that could firft creation give,

Sends forth a breath, and, lo! we live;
When he recalls that breath, we die :
What wonder if 'tis fwiftly paft
Within our breast, like yonder blast
That shakes the foliage of the grove;
Wonders the quiv'ring foliage, why
It cannot fix the wind that loves to rove.

Haft thou not often found to go
Time lingering on, and much too flow?
Becaufe tis Time that brings us Death.
Death is the goal where Nature tends,
Of life impatient where the ends.
Why wishes man to-morrow come?
It is because to-day we breathe,

And that to-morrow brings us to the tomb.

And age, that cruelly deftroys
Each focial blifs the foul enjoys,
Weakness, and pain, and error too,
Sweet fleep that charms our woes to peace
(Forgotten with ourselves they cease)
Ennui, to which this life's a flave,
All, all, combining, feem to woo,
Habituate, and lead us to the grave,

And who would bear perpetual spleen
Lefs dreadful had the exit been?
'Tis nature bids the fear arise,
That we may not too quickly leave
This fcene, where all are doom'd to grieve;
On utmost life's dread bound'ry shows
An awful gulph to mortal eyes,

Left by defertion we should fly our woes,

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VII,

By both affail'd, the beauteous victims fall On the bleach'd meadow, or the marshy bourn;

In vain their love-divided mates shall call, And, robb'd of half its beauty, fpring shall mourn.

VIII.

Robin alone the facred fongfter dares

To fcrape the harvest from the ruftic floor; The wheaten mortel in his bill he bears, Courts the low fhed, and gambols at the door.

IX.

Nor birds and beats alone thy influence

prove,

Then oft are taught thy vary'd ills to bear; Benumb'd across the wintry waste they rove,

XVII.

Mortals expand: their fpirits and their fenfe With renovated warmth dilate and glow; Alike is feen thy potent influence

On the vast tract of worldly things below.. XVIII. To me alike do wintry forms appear,

The fummer's folftice and the vêrnal gale, If fair Cleora shall disdain to hear

Her Charles's leffons, and her Charles's tale.

XIX.

When angry paffions her refentment move, Winter, I own thy heart-benumbing pow'r :

Her tear of pity and her fmile of love
Are Summer's heat and Spring's irriguous

fhow'r.

Chill'd by the keenness of the northern air. G. Malvern, Worcestershire,

X.

Relent, ftern tyrant; to our wishes bend;

Thy iron reign, thy bitter season's past ; Thofe genial hours and milder profpects fend, At length abate thy defolating blast.

XI.

1785.

C. A.

The GHOST of EDWIN,

A SONG.

I.

Enough the earth hath groan'd beneath thy PALE gleam'd the moon on Severn's wave,

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When Laura from the cottage ftray'd
To the ftreams that murmuring lave
The daify-pied en mell'd mead.
Her hopes on abfent Edwin reft,
On Edwin to the Indies gone;

Owns thy ftern pow'r, and mourns its When thus a figh her fears exprefs'd,

ravish'd green. XII.

Begone, imperious Winter! Hie thee hence
To barren hills, uncultivated vales;
Let Spring return to gratify the fenfe,

And heal thy ravages with ambient gales.
XIII.

Come, then, and biefs these plains, thou feafon mild,

Nor fail to bring thy wonted fweets along; Th' expanding leaf, the hawthorn blooming wild,

The cooling zephyr, and the linnet's fong;
XIV,

The op'ning fweets of every vernal flow'r,
The purple hyacinth, and violet blue ;
The mild nutrition of thy balmy show'r,
Succeeded by the rainbow's glorious hue.
XV.

Let golden funs illume the teeming earth,
With animation bless the scatter'd feed ;
Call torpid nature to immediate birth,
From hoary Winter's stronger influence
freed.

XVI.

As bloffoms open to the vernal day,

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Thus had the pafs'd each twilight pale,

By Lana's flow declining ray, Whilft at her fide the Nightingale Vented her plaints on ev'ry fpray: Still Laura, haplefs, friendfefs fair,

Made to the stars her fruitless moan; And this her note of wild defpair, "O! when shall wedlock make us one 111.

At laft the Ghost of Edwin came,

Pale as the fnow on Winter's cheek, "Ah me! (he cries) how much to blame "Was I for Fortune's files to feek! "Now me a watery grave contains,

"Floating around the Torvid Zone : "Live thou, whaft fall thy love complains, "Oh! when thall death behold us oue

IV.

As when the dew doth eve befpeak,
Or April fhow'rs the vernal year;
So down fair Laura's pallid cheek

Stream'd in anguifh many a tear.
To gratp his much-lov'd form she strove;
She found it not, and gave a groan;

And flow'rs their vary'd shapes and hues Then dy'd amidst the leafy grove ;

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Exulting thunders from the gorgeons car ; Dooms realius to flaughter for a pompous name,

And proudly glories in the guilt of war. By itern Oppreffion struck, the helpiefs poor From much-lov'd cottages and hamlets fly; Depriv'd of all, they Heav'n for aid implore!

Neglected droop-and unlamented die ! Religion, fent by Heav'n to heal each grief, To point the road where human evils ceale ;

Give rankling Mifery a fure relief,

And fouthe the warring pations into peace;

By bigot zeal and fuperftition fir'd,

With horrid fury fcatters death around;

And deems that wretch moft pious, mot infpir'd,

Who strikes with ruthlefs band the dire

ful wound!

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WRAPT in the clay-cold arms of Death,

Maria pale and filent lies;

Her beauteous form devoid of breath,
Th' untainted fpint ling'ring flies
To fcenes above, where Virtue reigns,

Where reftlefs cares no more annoy,
But Heav'n's feraphic choir proclaims,

In fweet-tun'd notes, celestial joy. The death-denouncing toll. I hear! Again it ftrikes!-again affails! Pierces again my lift'aing ear, Light.wafted by the murm'ring gales. Relentless Death! can nought affuage!

No pow'r oppofe thy fix'd career ! No arm impervious quell thy rage! No fortrefs fhield th' unhappy Faur! Ah, no! 'tis folly to refift;

For fafety, too, 'tis vain to fly ; Th' unerrin dart has never mis'd

To draw from all th' expiring figh. Haft thou not feen the blushing flower Array'd in rofeat colours gay,

When tempefts fraught with mifchief lower, Pale-withering, pine and fade away?

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Thus did Maria spread her charms, [bless
Thus bloom with bright'ning profpect
Thus too Defpair's fad form alarms,
And the -c'en thus the funk to reft !

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