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Then whither halt thou stray'd,
Dear fympathetick maid?.
Till thy lov'd form before my fight appears,
Say, dost thou fit beneath the swelling tide,
And hear th’embattled squadrons join :
Britannia's heroes meet the foe,
And plunge them in the depths below;
In Neptune's now-empurpled feat,
That decks the angry God's retreat?
There dost thou sit, and with faft-falling tears
Lament the hapless brave,
Doom'd to a wat’ry grave,
And, by her vile intrigues,
Wealth, power, and folly, leagues,
Then, tempter-like, she blames
The rage herself inflames;
Or, rather, Goddess, say,
Doft thou not mournful stray,
Where her curs'd arts have torn,
Ah! never to return!
While, in the conflict dire
That ftains the guilty land,
Falls, by his offspring's hand:
His youthful darling prefs'd
To his enraptur'd breaft,
Seeks, in the cruel fight,
Him once his fole delight;
Alas! in scenes like these,
Source of perpetual tears;
For many weeping years!
The ever-streaming eyes
Of their dear kindred ties
Sheathe, fheathe the murderous blade, distracted men,
Nor rafhly urge the defolating foe;
And cease the hated blast of war to blow!
-Bless'd in connubial love, the happiest pair
In friends, in fortune bless'd!
Enraptur'd as they press'd
And fondly dwelt on all their little charms;
The kindred features of each cherub face Seem'd-did they not more than seem--Heaven's most peculiar care?
Yet, in a moment, ló! the flames ascend,
Where, wrapt in fleep, their deareft treasure lies;
Descending angels bear them to the fkies,
The absent father but too foon returns ;
And fondly deems
He only dreams;
Sudden he starts, as when loud thunders roll,
Vain is the pow'r of language, to express
Alas! no stranger hears
The melancholy tale,
But down his visage pale
Fast fall the chacing tears-
Cease, busy memory, cease!
Spare the heart-rending groan!
To heal their wounded peace,
And not to wake my own!
And shall these eyes, that view'd the fever's flame
That saw, convuls'd, a second infant lie;
Tho' countless fighs the tortuş'd bofom heave,
Persuades, at length, whatever is, is best,'
'Tis his to heal the agonizing smart
The embryo infant now the mother bears,
(So Heaven decrees)
Shall bring them ease,
But, ah! what sufferers, in this mortal state,
Can ever hope to know
No interval of woe?
Then grieve not if th' Almighty has ordain'd,
As starts the gushing flood to either eye,
Yet, as the soft distress they turn to hide,
Their lovely, smiling boy,
Shall bring them back to joy; And kind Religion, ever prompt to save, Claiming their gratitude for what they have, Shall bid them smite their pensive breasts, and say, Thoy, LORD, HAST GIVEN—ANDTHOU HAST TAKEN AWAY!'
AN IMITATION FROM THE SPECTATOR,
BY MR. LLOYD.
Month hath roll'd it's lazy hours away,
Since Delia's presence bless'd her longing fwain; How could he brook the sluggish Time's delay,
What charm could soften such an age of pain ?
One fond reflection still his bosom chear'd,
And sooth'd the torments of a lover's care; 'Twas, that for Delia's self the bower he rear'd,
And fancy plac'd the nymph already there.
*O come, dear maid! and, with a gentle smile,
Such as lights up my lovely fair-one's face,
Nor rob the villa of the villa's
• Whate'er improvements strike thy curious fight,
Thy taste hath formidlet me not call it mine, • Since, when I muse on thee, and feed delight,
* I form no thought that is not wholly thine.
• Th’apartments destin'd for my charmer's use,
(For love in trifles is conspicuous Mewn)
And trust me, love, I could almost believe
• This little spot the mansion of my fair;