From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow, And raise esteem upon the base of wo! Even he, the noblest of the tuneful throng, Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear, Shall catch the soft contagion of my song, And pay my pensive Muse the tribute of a tear.

ELEGY TO PITY.

[R

HAIL, lovely power! whose bosom heaves the sigh,

When fancy paints the scene of deep distress, Whose tears spontaneous crystallize the eye, When rigid Fate denies the power to bless.

Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey

From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare ;
Not dew-drops glittering in the morning ray
Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear.

Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies ;
No blood-stain'd traces mark thy blameless way,
Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.

Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me,
To spring the partridge from the guileful foe,
From secret snares the struggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.

And when the air with heat meridian glows,

And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam, Let us, slow wandering where the current flows, Save sinking flies that float along the stream.

Or turn to nobler, greater tasks, thy care,
To me thy sympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in Friendship's griefs to bear a share,
And justly boast the generous, feeling heart.

Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief,
With timely aid the widow's woes assuage,
To Misery's moving cries to yield relief,

And be the sure resource of drooping age.

So, when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature owns the dread decay,
Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,

And gild the close of life's eventful day.

RECOLLECTIONS IN ADVERSITY.

[J. M.]

SWEET was my father's kiss to me
When nightly I was sent to rest;
How joyful then I climb'd his knee,
And bent my head to have it blest.

And when the blushing morning came,
Refresh'd from balmy sleep I rose,

O how I lov'd to lisp his name,

And near his chair my station chose!

Then oft I felt my infant heart

Oppress'd with boding fears and care,
Lest others lov'd should steal a part
Of fondness I could never spare.

The fairing gay was still for me,
And many a treasur'd cake I found,

His gifted doll I drest with glee,

With spangled silk and ribbands bound,

My task perform'd-my lesson learn'd,
Recounting how I spent the day,
The promis'd penny duly earn'd,
Light-hearted then I danc'd away.

My seat was by him in the bower,
That open'd to the landscape wide,
Where oft he pluck'd the blooming flower,
And on my brow the emblem tied.

An arm to me was welcome still,
Whene'er we health or pleasure sought:
And as we trac'd the mead or hill,
I mark'd his magic turn of thought.

He bade the strains my soul inspire

That charm'd him from th' immortal page;

And kindling with the Muse's fire,

He felt the bard's delirious rage.

My morn of life unclouded rose;

Kind parents strew'd my path with flowers; Soft pleasures charm'd me to repose, And careful watch'd my waking hours.

But ah! my noon is overcast―

To me hath dire misfortune come,

I shrink before the chilling blast-
I wander now, without a home.

Yet, oh! forgive him powers above!
Who led me to the fatal snare,
Who made me slight a father's love,
And lightly prize a mother's care.

But cold in dust my parents sleep,

My piercing woes they cannot see--
Oh! that these burning eyes could weep
For those who wept so oft for me.

ELEGY

TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY.

[POPE.]

WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
"Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it in heav'n a crime to love too well?