INVOCATION TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

W

BY MISS HEYS.

AND RING o'er the dewy meadow,

Oft at ev'ning hour I go;

Fondly courting Philomela's

Sympathetick plaints of woe.

• Cease to fhun me, lovely mourner;
Sweetly breathe the melting ftrain:
• Oft thou deign'ft to charm the rustick,

Yet, to him, thy fofteft trillings

• Can no fympathy impart;

• Wouldst thou feek for kindred feelings, • See them trembling in my heart!'

Vain, alas! my Invocation,

Vain the pleadings of the mufe! Wrapp'd in filent fhades, the charmer Doth her tuneful lay refuse.

Clouds obfcure deform the æther,
Rifing damps involve the plain;
Penfively I haften homeward,
To avoid the coming rain.

3 N

EVELIN A.

EVELINA.

R

AN ELEGY.

BY MR. TOMLINS.

E-ECHOING thro' the folitary shade, No more the nightingale her vigil kept; The moon no more the noify watch-dog bay'd, But ev'ry eye, fave Evelina's, 'flept.

She, wretched female, waftes the midnight hour,
Not as when firft Bellario caught her eye;
When new to love, in fome fequefter'd bow'r,
She fondly liften'd to each treach'rous figh:

When kneeling at her feet, and bath'd in tears,
Unnumber'd vows he fwore of endless truth;
And while he bade her bofom lose it's fears,

Destroy'd the virgin blossom of her youth!

In fruitless grief fhe fpends the tedious night,
And fad remorfe in vain her bofom tears;
Too foon to bring her forrows to the light,
A living witness of her fhame the bears.

In vain the calls on all thofe pow'rs above,
So oft invok'd to ev'ry vow he fwore;
In vain recounts the blissful fcenes of love,
In happy moments that return no more.

Ah, falfe Bellario! whither art thou flown,
• Unheedful of the anguish I endure?
Return, thou faithlefs caufe of all my moan;

O come, and eafe the wound thou canst not cure!

• Tho

Tho' Love has loft his empire in thy breaft, • Still let thy pity lend it's kind relief; • Till fome blefs'd hour fhall give eternal reft, • And end the torments of defpair and grief.

Heart-rending thought! e'er number'd with the dead, • Envenom'd Infamy fhall blast my name;

• While envious Scorn the baleful tale fhall spread,
And feaft upon the ruins of my fame.

• What boots it that around the pompous bed
Obfequious Servitude fhall bend the knee,
• While virtuous Poverty can fhake her head,
And thank kind Fortune that he is not me?

• Ye glitt❜ring gifts from Fortune's hoard begone;

• Begone, fince Peace and Chaftity are fled:

Can gold re-purchase female honour flown,

• Or buy the feelings of the spotless maid?

Come then, thou friendly draught, my mis'ries eafe,
And all my guilt, and all my fhame conceal;

• From ev'ry eye, from ev'ry ear, but His,
• Who fees, who pities, all the pangs I feel!'

With wild, distracted looks, and throbbing breaft,
Through fuffocating fobs and fighs the broke;
And thus the fatal fruit of Love address'd,
While all the mother trembled as she spoke.

O thou! whom Nature would to man have brought,
That dy'ft ere yet thou haft begun to be;

Ere yet thou feel'ft the bitter curfe of thought,
Or wak'st to life, and liv'st a wretch like me!

End thou the dire remorse that racks my breast,
And for thy fate fufficient vengeance takes ;
Ah! get thee to the darkfome cave of rest,
Where not a ray of morning ever breaks!

For thus did Tyranny thy lot decide,

Thou fource of all my woes, and all my joys: Love gave thee life, in spite of Honour's pride; Now Honour, spite of Love, that life destroys!'

She faid; and, guided by the fiend Despair,
Empts of it's life-deftroying drench the bowl;
O! may no maid to friend or parent dear,
Feel the fad tortures of her guilty foul!

For now the draught, with which in vain she try'd
To fave her honour and conceal her shame,
Too deeply drugg'd, poifons life's purple tide,
And rends with agony her tender frame.

Compell'd by pain, her former pride forgot,
With dreadful fhrieks the pierc'd the gloom of night;
Shrieks which conducted to the fatal spot

An aged parent, trembling with affright.

There, in convulfive throes, with anguish wild,
Imploring mercy, Evelina lay,

The daughter of her foul! her only child!
To confcious guilt and racking pain a prey.

With fond parental care the matron tries

To pour the balm of comfort on her wound:
And why, my child,' in fault'ring accents cries;
Why fall thofe tears, and whence thofe fighs profound?'

O let