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With goodness large and free, Delights the widow's tears to stay, To teach the blind their smoothest way,

And aid the feeble knee.

O come! and o'er my bosom reign,
Expand my heart, inflame each vein,

Through ev'ry action shine ;
Each low, each selfish with controul;
With all thy essence warm my soul,

And make me wholly thine.

If from thy facred paths I turn,
Nor feel their griefs, while others mourng

Nor with their pleasures glow: Banish'd from God, from bliss, and thee, My own tormentor let me be,

And groan in hopeless woe.

ON THE DEATH OF STELLA

A PASTORAL.

INSCRIBED TO HER SISTER.

See on those ruby lips the trembling breath,
Those cheeks now faded at the blast of death;
Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before,
And those love-darting eyes shall roll no moro.. Pope.

Now purple ev'ning ting'd the blue serene, .
And milder breezes fann'd the verdant plain;
Beneath a blasted oak's portentous thade,
To speak his grief, a pensive fwain was laid:-
Birds ceas'd to warble at the mournful sound;
The cheerful landscape sadden'd all around :
For Stella's fate he breath'd his tuneful moan ;
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Othou! by stronger ties than blood ally'd,
Who died to pleasure, when a sister* dy’d!:
Thou living image of those charins we lost,
Charms, which exulting nature once might boast!
Indulge the plaintive muse, whose simple strain
Repeats the heart-felt anguish of the swain :
For Stella's fate thus flow'd his tuneful moan;
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

A Lady distinguished for every personal grace, and, qualification of mind which could adorn her tex and nature

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Are happiness and joy for ever fled,
Nor haunt the twilight grove, nor funny glade?
Ah! Aed for ever from my longing eye;
With Stella born, with Stella too they die:
Die, or with me your brightest image moan:
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Sweet to the thirsty tongue the crystal stream,
To nightly wand'rers sweet the morning beam;
Sweet to the wither'd grass the gentle show'r;
To the fond lover sweet the nuptial hour;
Sweet fragrant gardens to the lab'ring bee,
And lovely Stella once was heav'n tó me:
That heav'n is faded, and those joys are flown,
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Ah! where is now that form which charm'd my sight? Ah! where that wisdom, sparkling heav'nly bright? Ah! where that sweetness like the lays of spring, When breathe its flow'rs, and all its warblers sing? Now fade, ye flow'rs! ye warblers join my moan! Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Ah me! though winter desolate the field,
Again thall flow'rs their blended odours yield;
Again thall birds the vernal season hail,
And beauty paint, and music charm the vale:

But the no more to bless me shall appear;
No more her angel voice enchant my ear ;
No more her angel smile relieve my moan:
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

He ceas'd; for mighty grief his voice supprest,
Chill'd all his veins, and struggled in his brealt;
From his wan cheek the rosy tincture flies;
The lustre languifh'd in his closing eyes:
Too soon shalt life return, unhappy swain!
If, with returning sense, returns thy pain. [moan!
Hills, woods, and streams, resound the shepherd's
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Α Ν Ε Ρ Ι Τ Α Ρ Η.

If e'er tharp sorrow from thine eyes did flow,
If e'er thy bosom felt another's woe,
If e'er fair beauty's charms thy heart did prove,
If e'er the offspring of thy virtuous love
Bloom'd to thy wish, or to thy soul was dear,
This plaintive marble asks thee for a tear!
For here, alas! too early snatch'd away,
All that was lovely Death has made his prey.
No more her cheeks with crimson roses vie,
No more the diamond sparkles in her eye;

Her breath no more its balmy sweets can boast,
Alas l' chat breath with all its sweets are lost..
Pale now those lips where blushing rubies hung,
And mute the charming music of her tongue;
Ye virgins fair, your fading charms survey,
She was whate'er your tender hearts can say.
To her sweet memory for ever dear,
Let the green turf receive your trickling, tear :
To this sad place your earliest garlands bring,
And deck her grave with firstlings of the spring.
Let opening roses, drooping lilies tell,
Like those the bloom’d, and ah! like these the fell.
In circling wreaths let the pale ivy grow, ,
And distant yews a sable mhade bestow;
Round her, ye Graces! constant vigils keep,
And guard, fair Innocence! her sacred Neep:
Till that bright morn shall wake the beauteous clay,
To bloom and sparkle in eternal day.

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