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Written on seeing Mr. Dermody a very few hours before he died.
Oh! if as yet, the sight of woe can wean
From future sorrows thy devoted mind,
Where, faint and sinking with unusual grief,
Lo! e'en the Muse, his lost fond idol leaves,
The aching breast, where ardent genius glow'd,
His early woes some future wretch may save,
J. G. RAYMOND.
"A dear-bought Bargain all things duly weigh'd."
And the grand cause of this contention state.
At sight of these the combatants were fir'd,
High in his rostrum stood the auctioneer, Thund'ring their value in each list'ning ear "Suppose five shillings to begin we fix,—” The words scarce spoke another cries out six; Quickly the sound reverb'rates back again, Rising from seven to eight, from nine to ten : Warm grew the contest as the price advanc'd, Their fierce desires the value much enhanc'd; Each firm and resolute supports her cause, To two pounds five :-and here ensued a pause: "What, five and forty shillings and no more,” Burst from the rostrum-" Ladies, don't give o'er :" Till tir'd with hallooing, and his breath quite spent, “'Tis gone,” he cried, and down the hammer went. Here Dolotea with indignant eyes,
Sees her young rival bearing off the prize; "Stop, stop," she cried, "good Mr. Auctioneer, " 'Twas two pounds six I bid, you did not hear;" Who dares dispute the truth? I'm sure not I, For would I think a lady e'er could lie?
Hence a new sale began-with double rage
But Oh! the sequel of the story hear,
The valu'd purchase (hapless was the case)
THE COT OF THE VALE.
Down at the foot of yon wide spreading wood,
She would not for wealth that contentment destr
And to love she preferr'd the sweet Cot of the vale.
The lord of the manor, resolv'd to ensnare
This maid deck'd in nature's gay charms, One day as he watch'd round the cottage with care, He saw lovely Anna, enchantingly fair,
And bore her away in his arms : Old Oswald deserted, her loss did bewail, And sorrowing left the dear Cot of the Vale. IV. Despairing to find her, he sánk on the spot, And call'd on her name as he fell, And now, see, dishevell'd she enters the cot, She falls on the body, resign'd to her lot, And of life takes a lasting farewell, The tribute of penitence nought can avail, For they lie in one grave near the Cot of the Vale.
Nor time, nor place can e'er remove,
The pleasing thoughts, the sweet impression, The melting glance that spoke "we love," The bliss that follow'd the confession.
Think of repentant sorrows darts,
Oh what a paradise is love!
Thus wanton, unconfin'd and free,
Then let us wander where we will,
Life and its joys in prospect shine ;
And lovely woman still is mine.
TO A RED BREAST FLYING IN A CHURCH,
Σὺ δὲ φιλια γεωργῶν. Anacreon.
SWEET visitant, that lov'st the hallow'd shrine,
I bless thee, warbler, bless the care of heav'n,
Thou ring'st thy echoes round,
These walls antique, these venerable piles
Of thy numb'd fellows thoughtless. While the winds
Unwatch'd by gunner's eye, thou liv'st secure,
By tabby foes unwatch'd, or early death.