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But mourn in vain—his vigorous arm shall fail,
Yet, ah, fond heart! avert, kind Heaven, the stroke,
Yet from my hand this last address receive ;
Then world, farewel! farewel life's fond defires,
Say, why yon hearse with fading flowers is crown'd,
ON the banks of the Styx, as a beautiful gholt
In resemblance the shade of the Goddess of Love, Was revolving the days when a counters and toast
She flaunted about in the regions above;
News arriv'd, which foon made all Elysium to ring,
That the Fates a great monarch had summon'd to rest, În calling Old England's late father and king
To a crown of reward in the realms of the bl 'da
My lady was vex'd to be robb'd of th’occasion,
By dying before him so mal-a-propos,
And making a party herself in the show.
She therefore in haste skipp'd away to the ferry
• Here, Charon! you're empty ; come, take over me ; • I'm resolv'd to go back to the world in your wherry,
• The only fine fight I e'er miss'd of, to see.'
Old Charon most civilly bow'd to my lady;
Stepp'd out of his wherry, and handed her in ; But finding the wanted a pafs, was as ready
Her ladyship roughly to turn out again.
Then sudding away to the court in a hurry,
Direct, for a passport, tu Pluto she ran ; And put Madam Proserpine into a furry,
Who thought Ihe was come to seduce her good man.
Gloomy Dis grimly smild at the lady's request,
But more at her whimsical motive and reason; And, having malignly a mind for a jest,
Represented her suit as a thing out of season.
• I cannot,' said he, • lady fair,' with a frown,
Indulge ev'ry ghost in it's wanton desire ; • But if for their fakes wife or husband come down,
• I then might restore the fond fouls they require.
. Since Orpheus, however, in risque of his life,
• Long ago made us ftare with his musick and passion, « Not a soul 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?
• Besides, pretty lady, you're greatly mistaken,
* If pleasure you promise yourself in the fight; • For, unseen by your friends, by admirers forsaken,
« There's none will regard an impalpable sprite.'
• Nay, nay! quoth the countess, if that be the case,
• Take your paffport again ; I'll have no more chagrin : ? A fig for fine fights, if unseen one's fine face!
" What signifies seeing, if one is not seen!'
THE CONTENTED PHILOSOPHER,
BY THE REV. MR. CUNNINGHAME.
EEP filence reign'd, and dewy Night
Her silver vestment wore ;
And busy day was o'er ;
To hail Reflection's hour I rose,
Had lylld my anxious breast,
The breezy mount, the misty vale,
Alternately I stray'd ;
My wandering eye survey'd :
Till, where the trembling beams of night
O’er limpid currents play'd,
On deep Retirement's shade.
The unambitious dome, conceal'd,
Fear'd no intrusive foes ;
The feat of calm repose.
'Twas Sophron's grove, an aged fire,
Who, vers'd in Wisdom's lore, Now tun'd his confecrated lyre,
To clofe the silent hour.
The hallow'd strain inflam'd my breast,
I gain’d the rustick cell;
Then gave th' instructive tale.
How false the aim of erring life !
• How fruitless the employ! « That treads the pompous maze of ftrifey
• In quet of folid joy!
. The plumy tribes unceasing roam,
Each verdant bough survey; * But fix at last their leafy home,
« Where silence wooes their fay :
• Where no alarming hinds invade,
• No fear their peace destroys; • Remote in the fequefter'd fhade,
• They rear their callow joys.
• Thus restless Nature loves to range,
! Thro’ life's gay scenes to rove; « Till Reason prompts the happier change,
• To Contemplation's grove !