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Heedless he cast forbidden looks behind;
The fleeting shadow vanish'd like the wind,
And all his joys wing'd their eternal flight
With her, like frighted doves, to realms of night.

Again I close my sleep-deluded eyes,
Around my soul black swarms of demons rise,
Pale spectres grin, and angry furies howl,
Quick lightnings flash, and horrid thunders roll;
Again the frighted wanderer hastes away
Back to the living horrors of the day,
There counts the visionary misery o'er,
And realizes what was dream'd before.

Ye dreary powers, that hover o'er the plains Where sorrows reign, and everlasting pains, Bear me to places suited to my woe, Where noxious herbs and deadly poisons grow, Whilst wintry winds howl fiercely round my head, The flint my pillow, sharpen'd rocks my bed; And ghosts of wretches once who died for love Round their unburied bodies nightly rove, Which hang half moulder’d on some blasted tree, And by their sad example counsel me.

What now avail the joyous moments past, Or what will all the wretched few that last? In them I dying will our loves proclaim, With faltering accents call upon thy name; And, whilst I bless thee with my parting breath, Enjoy the raptures of my life in death. Then spare thy curses, and forget the offence Of him who robb’d thee of thy innocence; Or if not quite forget, forgive at least, And sooth the dying penitent to rest.

Oh! may to thee the pitying gods bestow Eternal peace and happiness below;

The secret progress thus we first began, Then soon round pleasure's flowery circle ran; How oft we met, dull reason frown'd in vain, How oft we parted but to meet again! O blessed moments and divinest dreams! Enchanting transports and celestial gleams! Fly quick, my fancy, bring them back to view, In retrospection let me love anew; And once in thought enjoy the bliss again, E'en cheaply purchased by an age of pain.

O sacred queen of silent night, advance, And cast thy sable mantle o’er the expanse, Come, gentle Sleep, and close my wearied eyes, Give to my arms what hateful day denies; For vain, alas! those dulcet wishes roll, When sovereignfreason awes the wakeful soul; Sleep sets it free to all its native fires, And gives a grateful loose to soft desires. At that calm hour, when Peace her requiem sings, And pleasing slumbers spead their airy wings; Thy beauteous image comes before my sight (My theme by day, my constant dream by night); Fancy not fairer paints those heaven-born maids, In fair Elysium under myrtle shades, Who ever blooming, ever young appear, To drive from happy shades intruding fear. My ravish'd thoughts on plumes angelic soar, And feel within a heaven or somewhat more. Straight on thy oft repeated name I call, Then wake and sigh and find it vanish'd all. Thus erst when Orpheus from the Stygian shore Had won his youthful bride by music's power, Impatient to behold her, ere he pass'd The pool Cocytus and the’ infernal waste,

Heedless he cast forbidden looks behind;
The fleeting shadow vanish'd like the wind,
And all his joys wing’d their eternal flight
With her, like frighted doves, to realms of night.

Again I close my sleep-deluded eyes,
Around

my soul black swarms of demons rise, Pale spectres grin, and angry furies howl, Quick lightnings flash, and horrid thunders roll; Again the frighted wanderer hastes away Back to the living horrors of the day, There counts the visionary misery o'er, And realizes what was dream'd before.

Ye dreary powers, that hover o'er the plains Where sorrows reign, and everlasting pains, Bear me to places suited to my woe, Where noxious herbs and deadly poisons grow, Whilst wintry winds howl fiercely round my head, The flint my pillow, sharpen'd rocks my bed; And ghosts of wretches once who died for love Round their unburied bodies nightly rove, Which hang half moulder'd on some blasted tree, And by their sad example counsel me.

What now avail the joyous moments past, Or what will all the wretched few that last? In them I dying will our loves proclaim, With faltering accents call upon thy name; And, whilst I bless thee with my parting breath, Enjoy the raptures of my life in death. Then spare thy curses, and forget the offence Of him who robb’d thee of thy innocence; Or if not quite forget, forgive at least, And sooth the dying penitent to rest. Oh!

may to thee the pitying gods bestow Eternal peace and happiness below;

Yet when thy mortal frame, as once it must,
Returns and mingles with its native dust;
May the same urn our mingled ashes have,
And find a lasting union in the grave!

If you ere long my bleeding corse should see
Beneath the covert of yon conscious tree,
This last request I make for all my fears,
For all my sleepless minutes spent in tears,
For all those struggles of my parting breath,
And all the agonies in one, my death ;
Think on the raptures which we ravish’d there,
Then breathe a sigh, and drop the’indebted tear.
This empty tribute's to the memory

due Of one who lived and died in love of you. My ghost, thus sooth’d, shall seek the Stygian

shore, Mix with the happy crowd, and grieve no more;

wait till thou at last art given, To raise each blessing of the Elysian heaven, Where uncontrol'd in amorous sports we'll play, And love a whole eternity away.

But eager

THE POWER OF HARMONY:

A POEM, IN TWO BOOKS.

The Design. It is observable, that whatever is true, just, and harmonious, whether in nature or morals, gives an instantaneous pleasure to the mind, exclusive of reflection. For the great Creator of all things, infinitely wise and good, ordained a perpetual agreement between the faculties of moral perception, the powers of fancy, and the organs of bodily sensation, when they are free and undistempered. From hence is deducible the most comfortable, as well as the most true philosophy that ever adorned the world; namely, a constant admiration of the beauty of the creation, terminating in the adoration of the First Cause, which naturally leads mankind cheerfully to cooperate with his grand design for the promotion of universal happi

ness.

From hence our author was led to draw that analogy between natural and moral beauty: since the same faculties which render us susceptible of pleasure, from the perfection of the creation and the excellence of the arts, afford us delight in the contemplation of dignity and justice in characters and manners. For what is virtue but a just regulation of our affections and appetites, to make them correspond to the peace and welfare of society? so that good and beauty are inseparable.

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