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Where now that glowing mind, those raptured lays,.
That late were wont to charm the list'ning ear?
He lived, you graced him living with your praise;
He died:-O! grace his memory with a tear!

Nor o'er the son alone your sorrows shed!
Another strain the parent's woes require!
O sooth his anguish! raise his drooping head,
And to his Dawson's praises tune the lyre!

Thus shall a gleam of joy at times succeed,
Recall the wonted lustre of his
Bid his sad bosom cease awhile to bleed,

And check the progress of the bursting sigh!

Say that, to titles born, he knew no pride;

No vice he knew, his breast was Virtue's throne! Beloved, adored, by all the world beside,

He was unconscious of his worth alone!

Folly for him spread all her lures in vain,

In vain, with ev'ry art, she strove to please!
He spurned her presents, broke her galling chain,.
And climbed fair Virtue's sacred hill with ease.

Say that, if innate purity of mind,

Pity to feel, and charity to save;
If learned elegance, and taste refined,

Could charm the ruthless bosom of the Grave;

He still had lived to cheer a parent's heart,—
A parent happy in his son's renown;
In life's high sc
scene had borne a longer part,,
And raised a nation's glory with his own..


This Fate forbad, and snatched him from our eyes, She took ('twas all she could,) his fleeting breath;

Beyond her power, he reascends the skies, Disdains the sepulchre, and smiles on death. Yes, honoured youth! in ev'ry gentle breast

Thy name shall live for ages yet to come: By ev'ry Muse thy worth shall be confest,

And Virtue's self shall weep upon thy tomb!

Tell then, blest spirit, tell the thoughtless crew, Who boast their youth, that youth will soon be o'er;

Bid them reflect, and, provident like you, Improve, while yet they may, the present hour.

ON MY BIRTHDAY.-Mrs. Carter.

AUTHOR of life! in vain my tongue essays,
For this immortal gift to speak Thy praise!
How shall my heart its grateful sense reveal,
When all the energy of words must fail?
O may it's influence in my life appear,
And ev'ry action prove my thanks sincere!

Grant me, great GOD, a heart to Thee inclin'd,
Increase my faith, and rectify my mind:
Teach me betimes to tread Thy sacred ways,
And to Thy service consecrate my days.
Still, as thro' life's perplexing maze I stray,
Be Thou the guiding star to mark my way,

Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth,
And point their motions to the paths of truth..
Protect me by Thy providential care,

And warn my soul to shun the tempter's snare..
Thro' each event of this inconstant state,.
Preserve my temper equal and sedate.
Give me a mind, that nobly can despise
The low designs and little arts of vice.
Be my Religion such as taught by Thee,
Alike from pride and superstition free.
Inform my judgment, regulate my will,
My reason strengthen, and my passions still..
Amidst the pleasures of a prosperous state,
Whose flatt'ring charms th' untutor❜d heart elate;
May. I. reflect to whom those gifts I owe,.

And bless the bounteous hand from whence they flow.

Or, if an adverse fortune be my share,
Let not its terrors tempt me to despair;

But fixt on Thee a steady faith maintain,

And own all good, which Thy decrees ordain ;

On thy unfailing providence depend,

The best Protector, and the surest Friend!



Mrs. Hunter.

WITHIN the silent chambers of the dead,

Her sacred clay lies wrapp'd in peaceful sleep, With years and honour crown'd. Time gently led

Her steady footsteps down the giddy steep

Of human life; surrounded by the blaze

Of talents, fair desert, and high distinguish'd


In early youth, from Pleasure's train retir'd, Willing she trod stern Learning's rugged way; By praise undazzled, humble, tho' admir'd,

She tun'd her lyre to Wisdom's moral lay ; Ev'n in that season, when the sportive pow'r Of Fancy strews our path with many a blooming flow'r.

Mild in the even temper of her mind,
Benevolent to all, to merit just,

Still on the side of mercy most inclin'd,

Unwillingly she blamed; where blame she must.. Pious as learned, and in faith sincere, Her trust was fix'd on Heaven, her hope already there.

Oh. Virtue! how divine thy form appears, Adorn'd by genius, and with knowledge crown'd;

When smiles benign thy lovely aspect wears,
When gentle charities thy throne surround!
Such was the blessed spirit now at rest,
Releas'd from mortal cares to mingle with the


Miss Bowdler.

THE last sad rites were done-the sacred ground Was clos'd, and Garrick's dust to dust return'd:

In life, in death, with general honours crown'd, A nation own'd his worth-applauded—mourn'd.

For who, like him, could every sense control; To Shakespeare's self, new charms, new force, impart,

Bid unknown horrors shake the firmest soul,
And unknown feelings melt the hardest heart?

Oft when his eye, with more than magic pow'r, Gave life to thoughts which words could ne'er reveal,

The voice of praise awhile was heard no more, All gaz'd in silence, and could only feel. Each thought suspended in a general pause,

All shar'd his passions, and forgot their own; 'Till, rous'd at length, in thunders of applause,

Th' accordant dictates of each heart were known.

O lost for ever to our wond'ring view!

Yet faithful Memory shall preserve thy name, Even distant times thy honours shall renew, And Garrick still shall share his Shakespeare's fame.

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