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THE midnight moon serenely finiles
O’er nature's soft repose;
No ruffling tempelt blows.
The throbbing heart lies ftill;
Distract the lab’ring will.
Attends each mental pow'r:
Reflection's fav’rite hour. Come! while the peaceful scene invites,
Let's search this ample round, Where shall the lovely fleeting form
Of HAPPINESS be found ?
Of gay assemblies dwell?
That shades the hermit's cell.
A fick’ning heart conceals!
Invading SORROW steals.
The fugitive we trace;
That brightens clodio's face.
The heart in FRIENDSHIP finds;
Howe'er our varying notions rove,
Yet all agree in one,
At distance from our own.
Of pow'r fupremely wife;
The hand of heav'n denies! Vain'is alike the joy we seek,
And vain what we possess,
The passions into peace.
Is HAPPINESS confin’d;
The music of the mind.
Parading round, and round, and round:
And when AMBITION's voice commands,
I hate that DRUM's difcordant found,
And all that mis’ry's hand bestows,
ODE TO MORNING.
Ambrofial MORN! all hail thy rofeate ray! That bids gay nature all her charms display
In varied beauty bright! That bids each dewy-spangled flow'ret rise, And dart around its vermeil eyes; Bids silver lustre grace yon' sparkling tide, That winding warbles down the mountain's fide.
Away, ye goblins all! Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt; Whose vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt
Beside fome lonely wall, Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tow'r, Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour, Through each rough chink the folemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.
Away, ye elves, away!
Shrink at ambrosial morning's living ray:
Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,
JOHN AND JOAN. N° plate had john and Joan
to hoard, Plain folk, in humble plight; One only tankard crown'd their board,
And that was fill'd each night.
In pride of chubby grace,
A baby angel's face.
But JOAN was not like JOHN ;
John often urg'd her to drink fair,
But she ne'er chang'd a jot;
And therefore draind the pot.
Another card he play'd,
He got a devil pourtrayed.
Yet Joan as stoutly quaft'd !
She clear'd it at a draught.
His hairs rose on his pate;
" At this enormous rate?"
• I can't in conscience ftop: • For sure 'twould be a burning Thame
• To leave the devil a drop!'
EPITAPH ON MISS CAMPBELL. O PENSIVE passenger! do not refuse
To pause awhile, and weep upon this tomb, For here the cold remains of CAMPBELL lie,
This narrow spot, the vernal maiden's doom. Yes ! she was gentle as the twilight breeze,
Which o'er the fainting violet's bofom blows; Patient she bow'd beneath the stroke of death,
In faded semblance of the silver rose.
Shall the pure angel INNOCENCE appear;
To bathe the circling fod with many a tear.
THE THREE SISTERS. ERE SATURN's sons were yet disgrac’d,
And heathen gods were all the taste, Full oft (we read) 'twas Jove's high will To take an air on ida's hill. It chanc'd, as once with serious ken He view'd from thence the ways of men, He saw (and pity touch'd his breaft). The world by three foul fiends poffeft: Pale DISCORD there, and FOLLY vain, With haggard vice, upheld their reign. Then forth he sent his lummons high, And call’d a senate of the sky. Round as the winged orders prest, Jove thus his sacred mind expreft: “ Say! which of all this shining train “ Will viRTUE's conflict hard luftain ? “ For fee! the drooping takes her flight, “ While not a god supports her right.” He paus’d—when from amidst the sky, Wit, INNOCENCE, and HARMONY, With one united zeal arose, The tripple tyrants to oppose. That instant from the realms of day, With gen’rous speed, they took their way; TO BRITAIN's ille direct their car, And enter'd with the ev'ning ftar.
Beside the road a mansion stood, Defended by a circling wood: Hither, dilguis'd, their steps they bend, In hopes, perchance, to find a friend : Nor vain their hope, for records say, Worth ne'er from thence was turn'd away. They urge the trav’ller's common chance, And ev'ry pit’ous plea advance: The artful tale that wit had feign'd, Admittance, eafy, foon obtain'd.