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But mourn in vain-his vigorous arm shall fail,
But dogs and vultures tear the bloated prey !
Yet, ah, fond heart! avert, kind Heaven, the ftroke,
And only fhew how wild a thing is love.
Go, much-lov'd youth! with every bleffing crown'd,
O grant, Heaven, all!-but grant thee conftancy!
Then world, farewel! farewel life's fond defires,
Say, why yon hearfe with fading flowers is crown'd,
Dim burns life's lamp; O Death! thy work compleat,
OR, THE COUNTESS OF COVENTRY IN ELYSIUM.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCLX.
BY DR. KENRICK.
N the banks of the Styx, as a beautiful ghoft,
In resemblance the shade of the Goddess of Love,
News arriv'd, which foon made all Elyfium to ring,
In calling Old England's late father and king
To a crown of reward in the realms of the bless'd.
My lady was vex'd to be robb'd of th' occafion,
Of seeing his royal young heir's coronation,
She therefore in hafte skipp'd away to the ferry
Here, Charon! you're empty; come, take over me ; • I'm refolv'd to go back to the world in your wherry, The only fine fight I e'er mifs'd of, to fee.'
Old Charon most civilly bow'd to my lady;
Then skudding away to the court in a hurry,
Who thought she was come to feduce her good man.
Gloomy Dis grimly fmil'd at the lady's request,
But more at her whimsical motive and reafon; And, having malignly a mind for a jeft,
Represented her fuit as a thing out of season.
I cannot,' faid he, lady fair,' with a frown,
But if for their fakes wife or husband come down,
Since Orpheus, however, in rifque of his life,
Long ago made us ftare with his mufick and paffion, Not a foul hath come down, or for husband or wife; . So that journies of this kind are quite out of fashion.
Yet, as you're a beauty, the favour I grant ye; • But wherefore again should you covet on earth, < To mix with a crowd, that perhaps only want ye To make you the theme of impertinent mirth ?
Befides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken,
If pleasure you promise yourself in the fight; For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forfaken, < There's none will regard an impalpable sprite.'
Nay, nay!' quoth the countefs, if that be the cafe,
• What fignifies seeing, if one is not seen!'
THE CONTENTED PHILOSOPHER.
BY THE REV. MR. CUNNINGHAME.
EEP filence reign'd, and dewy Night
Her filver veftment wore ;
The western gale breath'd calm delight,
To hail Reflection's hour I rofe,
Each throbbing care at reft;
The breezy mount, the mifty vale,
The Gothick fpire, the lonely cell,
Till, where the trembling beams of night
On deep Retirement's fhade.