"Sunk her spirit, whelm'd in woe, "Does the royal captive go?

!

"Does her heart, oppress'd with dread, "Shudder to approach the dead? "Where the cavern yawns around, "Enter there the dark profound : "Soon thy path a crippled ass, "By a cripple led, shall pass, "Fainting they beneath their task"He assistance oft will ask, "But in these infernal lands "Touch not with unhallowed hands, "Cautious thou without delay, "Onward, onward, speed thy way "In old CHARON's creaking boat, "O'er the dead stream thou must float; "There the livid corse thou❜lt see "Stretch his blue-swoln hand to thee, "Frown thou on his suit severe, "Mercy were destruction here! "See those crones that on the left "Weave the many-colour'd weft, "See them, how they this way wend "Asking thee thy aid to lend, "But in these infernal lands "Touch not with unhallow'd hands, "Cautious thou, without delay

"Onward, onward, speed thy way! "Dipt the sop in Hydromel

"Charm the three-neck'd dog of Hell;

"Then from her imperial seat "Thee the shadowy queen shall greet, "Shall for thee the feast prepare

"Thou that feast refuse to share,

"But upon the pavement spread
"Take the black and mouldy bread-
"By the queen soon set at large,
"Back now bear thy precious charge:
"Over all, thy curious mind
"In the chains of prudence bind,
"Nor the strict command infringe,
"Move not thou the golden hinge!
"Gladsome then without delay
"Onward, onward, speed thy way!"
XXI.

She has seen the secrets of the deep,
And through o'erwhelming horrors past,
How her recovering pulses leap,

To hail the day-star's gleams at last!

"Do I then bear eternal bloom

"Alone to make my tyrant shine?

"Say, rather let its tints illume

"These wan and woe-worn cheeks of mine;

"Whilst I will revel in the rays
"Of beauty in the casket hid;"
Alas! no beam of beauty plays
Delightful from the lifted lid!
But from the empty casket sprang
Of Stygian fogs the baleful breath,
And o'er her quivering members hang
The damp unwholesome dews of Death.
Pale, pale, on earth's green lap she sleeps,
No perfum'd breeze those lips inhale,
As o'er her fluttering vestment sweeps
In fitful blasts the moaning gale,

Cold, cold is now that lovely breast,
And sunk that cheek of late so fair,
Yet tranquil peace remains imprest,
Celestial sweetness lingers there!
Ill-fated maid! no sorrowing friend

Shall steep thy herse in true-love showers,
Thy corse with duteous care shall tend,
Or strew thy grave with opening flowers.
No songster o'er thy dewy mound

For thee shall trill the plaintive lay, But the dark vulture hovering round With broad wing shade his purpos'd prey! XXII.

The fields of nature to deform

Not always drives the furious blast,
And shall misfortune's moral storm
'Gainst meek endurance ever last?
No, though unnumber'd ills assail,
Though man behold no succour nigh,
Though with the frailest of the frail,
Presumption tempt the prying eye;
Yet, if the germ of virtue live,

Let constant Faith her sufferings brave; Goodness is powerful to forgive,

And Heaven omnipotent to save. Though gathering clouds life's closing hours. With dark distressful fears annoy, Love points to Mercy's radiant bowers, Where Truth triumphant dwells with Joy. CUPID, with downcast, humbled mien, Has to the THUNDERER breath'd his care, The ALMIGHTY FATHER Smil'd serene, And granted-his 'adorer's prayer,

Now flies he to his lost one's aid,
He gently rais'd her falling head,
With his bright arrow touch'd the maid,
And rous'd her from her cheerless bed.
He animates anew her charms,

Warm o'er her breathes the light of love,
Then bears her in his circling arms,

And stands before the throne of Jove.

But on the Sovereign of the skies

What fleshly optics dare to gaze? And PSYCHE with averted eyes

Shrinks trembling from the excessive blaze: Till, HEBE raising to her lips

The ambrosial Goblet foaming high, Wrapt in extatic trance she sips

The fount of IMMORTALITY!

Purpled with roses dance the HOURS,
The GRACES scattering odours play,
And crown'd with never-fading flowers
The MUSES hymn the jocund lay.
And onwards up the etherial arch

Glad HYMEN leads the festive train,
As o'er the rainbow's hues they march,
And links them in his golden chain.
While soon to bless the faithful pair;
With eye of laughter, soul of flame,
Burst into life a daughter fair,

And PLEASURE was the infant's name. Norwich, 1799.

THE ROSE.

BY T. NOBLE.

AUTHOR OF BLACKHEATH, A POEM, &c.

O Do not pluck yon blooming rose,~
(Amelia fondly cried)

How full its op'ning fragrance blows!
It is the garden's pride.

The deep, soft, blush of morning beams
Hath just so rich a hue :

Such is the tint, when ev'ning gleams,
Purpling the pendant dew.

Such are the ruddy streaks of light,
That in the north arise,

Shoot their full crimson o'er the night,
And glow across the skies.

Go, view my rose what time the day
The silent dawn receives;

What pearls dart back the kindling ray,
Quick trickling o'er its leaves.

Its leaves a tender freshness breathe,
Soft steamy scent aspires;

And, flushed, the silvery show'r beneath,
Glance forth the rubied fires.