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When my charm'd eye a flood of joy express'd,
DEATH OF VISCOUNTESS TOWNSHEND.
With downcast look and pitying eye,
Unarm’d the King of Terrors stood; He laid his sting and horrors by,
Averse to strike the fair and good : When thus an angel urged the blow-
No more thy lifted hand suspend !
To innocence a welcome friend.
To her and me confess'd alone;
And pointing to the eternal throne.' The angel spoke-nor husband dear,
Nor children loved (a mournful train) Could from her eye attract one tear,
Nor bend one thought to earth again.
The soul, impatient of delay,
No more could mortal fetters bind; But springing to the realms of day,
Leaves every human care behind. Yet, oh! an infant daughter's claim
Demands from heaven thy guardian care; Protect that lovely helpless frame!
And guard that breast you form'd so fair! A parent's loss, unknown, unwept,
Thoughtless the fatal hour she pass’d; Or only thought her mother slept,
Nor knew how long that sleep must last. When time the unfolding mind displays,
May she, by thy example led, Fly from that motley giddy maze
Which youth and guilt and folly tread. These never knew the guiding hand
Which leads to virtue's arduous way: Mothers now join the vagrant band,
And teach their children how to stray. Her shall the pious task engage
(Such once was thine), with lenient aid A father's sorrows to assuage,
His love with equal love repaid. So shall she read with ardent eye
This lesson thy last moments give,They who, like thee, would fearless die, Spotless, like thee, must learn to live.'
ELEGY ON CAPTAIN COOK.
SORROWING, the Nine beneath yon blasted yew
Ye, who ere while for Cook's illustrious brow Pluck'd the green laurel and the oaken bough, Hung the gay garlands on the trophied oars, And poured his fame along a thousand shores, Strike the slow death-bell!-weave the sacred
verse, And strew the cypress o'er his honour'd hearse ;' In sad procession wander round the shrine, And weep him mortal whom ye sung divine ! Say first, what Power inspired his dauntless
breast With scorn of danger and inglorious rest, To quit imperial London's gorgeous domes, Where, deck'd in thousand tints, young Pleasure
roams; In cups of summer ice her nectar pours, Or twines, mid wintry snows, her roseate bowers; Where the warm Orient loads Britannia’s gales With all the incense of Sabæan vales; Where soft Italia's silken sons prolong The lavish cadence of the artful song ; Where Beauty moves with fascinating grace, Calls the sweet blush to wanton o'er her face,
On each fond youth her soft artillery tries,
miring by! When high in rage the troubled deep they plough’d, Thus to thy charms War's haughty chieftains
Lovely Benevolence !-0 nymph divine!
From the rude summit of yon frozen steep,
• The peterel is a bird found in the frozen seas; its neck and tail are white, and its wings of a bright blue.
+' In the course of the last twenty-four hours we passed throagh several fields of broken ice; they were in general narrow, but of considerable extent. In one part the pieces of ice were so close that the ship had much difficulty to thread them. VOL. IV.