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AN

N o'ergrown wood my wandering steps invade,

With surface mantled in untrodden snow ; Dire haunt! for none but savage monsters made,

Where frosts descend, and howling tempests blow.

Here, from the search of busy mortals stray'd,

My woe-worn soul thall hug her galling chain : For sure, no forest boasts too deep a shade,

No haunt too wild, for misery to remain.

O my Aminta ! dear distracting name!

Late all my comfort, all my fond delight; Still writhes my soul beneath it's torturing flame,

Still thy pale image fills my aching sight!

When shall vain Memory slumber o'er her woes?

When to oblivion be her tale resign'd? When shall this fatal form in death repose,

Like thine, fair victim, to the dust consign’d?

Again the accents faulter on my tongue ;

Again, to tear the conscious tear succeeds ; From sharp reflection is the dagger sprung,

And Nature, wounded to the centre, bleeds.

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Ye bitter skies ! upon the tale descend;

Ye blasts, tho' rude your visits, lend an ear; Around, ye gentler oaks, your branches bend;

And, as ye listen, drop an icy tear!

'Twas

'Twas when the step with conscious pleasure roves,

Where round the shades the circling woodbines throng; When Flora wantons o'er th' enamell'd

groves, And feather's choirs indulge the amorous fong:

Inspir'd by duteous love, I fondly ftray'd,

Two milk-white doves officious to ensnare ; Beneath a filent thicket as they play'd,

A grateful present for my softer fair.

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But, ah! in smiles no more they met my sight,

Their ruffled heads lay gasping on the ground: Where--my dire emblem!-a rapacious kite

Tore their soft limbs, and strew'd their plumes around.

The tear of pity stole into my eye ;

While ruder passions in their turn succeed; Forbid the victims unreveng'd to die,

And doom the author of their wrongs to bleed.

With hafty step, enrag'd, I homewards ran;

Curse on my speed! th' unerring tube I brought; That fatal hour my date of woe began,

Too sharp to tell, too horrible for thought !

Disast'rous deed ! irrevocable ill!

How shall I tell the anguish of my fate! Teach me, remorseless monsters, not to feel,

Instruct me, fiends and furies, to relate !

Wrathful behind the guilty shade I stole,

I rais'd the tube-the clamorous woods resoundToo late I saw the idol of my soul,

Struck by my aim, fall thrieking to the ground!

No No other bliss her soul allow'd but me;

(Hapless the pair that thus indulgent prove!) She fought concealment from a shady tree,

In amorous silence to observe her love,

I ran; but Ö! too soon I found it true!

From her ftain'd breast life's crimson stream'd apace ; From her wån eyes the sparkling lustres fiew;

The short-liv'd roses faded from her face !

Gods ! could I bear that fond reproachful look,

That strove her peerless innocence to plead ! But partial death awhile her tongue forsook,

To save a wretch that doom'd himself to bleed.

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While I, distracted, press'd her in my arms,
And fondly strove t'imbibe her latest breath

;
• O sparè, rash love !' she cry'd, thy fatal charms,

« Nor seek cold shelter in the arms of death.

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• Content beneath thy erring hand I die!

Our fates grew envious of a bliss so true; • Then urge not thy distress when low I lie,

• But in this breath receive my last adieu !!

No more the fpake, but droop'd her lily head!

In death the ficken'd-breathless-haggard--paie! While all my inmost soul with horror bled,

And ask'd kind vengeance from the passing gale.

Where slept your bolts, ye lingering lightnings fay!
Why riv'd

ye

not this self-condemned breast ! Or why, too passive Earth, didit thou delay !

To stretch thy jaws, and crush me into reft?

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Low in the dust the beauteous corse I plac'd,

Bedew'd and soft with many a falling tear ;
With fable yew the rising turf I grac'd,

And bade the cypress mourn in silence near.

Oft as bright morn's all-fearching eye returns,

Full to my view the fatal spot is brought;
Thro? sleepless night my haunted spirit mourns,

No gloom can hide me from distracting thought.

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When, spotless victim, shall my form deca y !

This guilty load, say, when shall I refign!
When shall my spirit wing her chearless way,
And

my cold corse lie treasur'd up with thine!

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THE

AFRICAN PRINCE,

IN ENGLAND, TO ZARA AT HIS FATHER'S COURT,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLIX,

BY DR. DODD.

, , ,

RINCES, my fair, unfortunately great,

Born to the pompous vaffalage of state,
Whene'er the publick calls, are doom'd to fly
Domestick bliss, and break the private tie;
Fame
pays
with

empty breath the toils they bear,
And Love's soft joys are chang’d for glorious care;
Yet conscious Virtue, in the filent hour,
Rewards the hero with a noble dow'r :
For this alone I dar'd the roaring fea,
Yet more—for this I dar'd to part with thee !
But while my bosom feels the nobler flame,
Still unreprov'd, it owns thy gentler claim.

a

Tho? Tho' Virtue's awful form my

foul

approves,
'Tis thine, thine only, Zara, that it loves !
A private lot had made the claim but one,
The prince alone must love for virtue Thun.
Ah ! why distinguish'd from the happier crowd,
To me the bliss of millions disallow'd ?
Why was I singled for imperial sway,
Since love and duty point a different way?

Fix'd the dread voyage, and the day decreed,
When, duty's victim, love was doom'd to bleed;
Too well my mem'ry can these scenes renew,
We met to figh, to weep our last adieu.
That conscious palm, beneath whose tow'ring shade
So oft our vows of mutual love were made;
Where hope so oft anticipated joy,
And plann'd, of future years, the best employ;
That palm was witness to the tears we shed,
When that fond hope, and all those joys were fled.
Thy trembling lips, with trembling lips I press’d,
And held thee panting to my panting breast :
Oar forrow, grown too mighty to sustain,
Now fnatch'd us, fainting, from the sense of pain.
Together finking in the trance divine,
I caught thy fleeting soul, and gave thee mine!
Q blefs'd oblivion of tormenting care !

why recall'd to life and to despair !
The dreadful summons came, to part--and why
Why not the kinder fummons, but to die?
I'o die together, were to part no more,
To land in safety on fome peaceful shore,
Where love's the business of immortal life,
And happy spirits only guess at strife.

If in some distant land my prince should find
" Some nymph more fair,' you cry'd, as Zara kind
Mysterious doubt! which could at once impart
Relief to mine, and anguish to thy heart.

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