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Succour the couch where beauty lies,

All pale with tender sear;
Where sickness lists its languid eyes,

O pour thy comsorts there.

Nor useless waste this moral night,

Like common hours, away;
But glow with wisdom s sacred light,

More sair than orient day.

Warn'd by each flash, may virtue rise,

And with its glories spread, While every blasted bud os vice

Shrinks in new terrors dead. .

So on that awsul judgment day,
Whose image shakes the soul,

Though keenest lightnings shoot their ray,
And loudest thunders roll;

Well pleas'd, O Lord, each eye shall see

Those final thunders hurl'd!
And mark with joy, sor lore os thee,

That flash which melts the world.


B Y J. 0 G IL VIE, D. D.

'twas when the flow declining ray

Had ting'd the cloud with evening gold;

No W2ibler pour'd the melting lay,
No sound disturb'd the fleeping sold.

When by a murmuring rill reclin'd,

Sat wrapt in thought a wandering swain;

Calm peace compos'd his musing mind;
And thus he rais'd the flowing strain:

"Hail, Innocence! celestial maid!

"What joys thy blushing charms reveal! "Sweet as the arbour's cooling shade,

"And milder than the vernal gale.

"On thee attends a radiant quire,

"Sost smiling Peace, and downy Rest,

"With Love that prompts the warbling lyre,
"And Hope that soothes the throbing breast.

"O sent srom heav'n to haunt the grove,
"Where squint-ey'd Envy ne'er can come;

"Nor pines the cheek with luckless love,
"Nor anguish chills the living bloom.

"But spotless Beauty, rob'd in white,

"Sits on yon moss-grown hill reclin'd; "Serene as heav'n's unsullyM light,

"And pure at Delia's gentle mind.

"Grant, heav'n'.y Power! thy peacesul sway "May still my ruder thoughts controul;

"Thy hand to point my dubious way,
"Thy voice to sooth the melting soul!

"Far in the shady sweet retreat

"Let thought beguile the lingering hour;

"Let quiet court the mossy seat,

"And twining olives sorm the bower.

"Let dove-ey'd Peace her wreath bestow, *' And ost sit listening in the dale,

"While night's sweet warbler srom the bough "Tells to tlie grove her plaintive tale.

"Sost, as in Delia's snowy breast,
"Let each consenting passion move;

"Let angels watch its silent rest,
"AnU all its blisssul dreams be love.



The sable night bad spread around

This nether world a gloom prosound;

No silver moon nor stars appear,

The lonely traveller to cheer:

The race os man, with toils opprest,

fcnjoy'd the balmy sweets os rest;

When srom the heav'nly court os Jove

Descended swist the God os love,

(Ah me! I tremble to relate)

And loudly thunder'd at my gate,

"Who's there?" I cry'd, "who breaks my door

"At this unseasonable hour?"

The God, with well-dissembled sighs,

And moan insidious, thus replies:

"Fray ope the door, dear Sir 'tis I,

"A harmless, miserable boy;

"Benumb'd with cold and rain I stray

"A long, uncomsortable way

"The winds with blust'ring horror roar-—
"'Tis dismal dark—pray ope the door."
Quite unsuspicious os a soe,
I listen'd to the tale os woe,

.Compassion touch'd my breast, and strait I struck,a light, unbarr'd the gate; When lo! a winged boy I spy'd With bow and quiver at is side: 1 wonder'd at his strange attire; Then sriendly plac'd him near the sire. My heart was bounteous and benign, I warm'd his little hands in mine, Checr'd him with kind assiduous care, And wrung the water srom his hair. Soon as the sraudsul youth was warm, "Let's try says he, is any harm "Has chanc'd my bow this stormy night; "I fear the wet has spoil'd it quite:" With that he bent the satal yew, And to the head an arrow drew; Loud twang'd the sounding string, the dart Pierc'd through my bosom to my heart: Then laugh'd amain the wanton boy, And " Friend," he cry'd, " I wissi thee joy; "Undamag'd is my bow, I see, "But what a wretch I've made os thee!"

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