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The Editor presents to his Fair Patroneffes this little piece, rather as a specimen of that species of poetry he wishes to fee cultivated by perfons of fuperior genius and learning, than as a production in itself compleat: he is fully fenfible he has much to fear, if judged by the ftrict rules of fevere criti. cifm; though he cannot relinquish the flattering hope, that this little Story, and it's intended Moral, may in fome degree contribute to the entertainment of his kind Friends-the only idea under which he will attempt to justify the infertion of any performance of his own, in a Collection so truly refpectable.

The Editor begs leave to add, that his Story has, at least, the claim of NOVELTY-and, if it should be found to meet with the general approbation of his numerous friends, he means to lay before them, at the commencement of each future volume, fomewhat of a different kind, the beft he may be able to produce.

E British Fair, whofe gentle bofoms know
To fhare luxurious in another's woe;

Whose radiant orbs, when black misfortunes lour,
Refresh with Pity's dew the drooping flow'r ;

And, Phoebus like, thro' wat'ry clouds lament
The wafteful tempeft which ye can't prevent:
A

Approach

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Approach your Poet-fain would he relate,
(To guard from ills like her's) Albina's fate.
And O ye British Youths, unfkill'd to rove
In the dark lab'rinths of illicit love;
Whofe gen'rous fouls permit not to defpife
The pearly drops that glide from Pity's eyes;
Ye too, draw near-and, plac'd by Virtue's fide,
Dare to indulge thofe griefs fhe fcorns to hide :
Nor let the moral tale my mufe fupplies,

No more inftru&t when Time hath wip'd your eyes;

But, to compleat the purpofe of thefe rhymes,

And fhun Lothario's woes-avoid his crimes!

-Not far remov'd from that fequefter'd bow'r,
Where once fecurely dwelt earth's faireft flow'r;
Till the vindictive queen with rage pursu’d,
And drench'd her cruel hands in injur'd blood;
High on a hill Earl Elwin's manfion flood,
In part fecreted by a neighb'ring wood,
Which down the flope thro' fecret mazes leads,
To where the Ifis laves her fav'rite meads:
Hither the earl would oft at dawn repair,
To breathe the fragrance of the vernal air ;
To hear the warblers of the vocal grove,
And join their ftrains of gratitude and love.

It chanc'd, one morning, while the earl thus ftray'd,
A wretched fair at diftance he furvey'd;

Whose careless treffes floating in the wind,

And various geftures, spoke her anguish'd mind.
Sometimes the ftepp'd with hafte among

the trees,

Look'd wildly round, and dropp'd upon her knees
Now rofe again; and, with uplifted eyes,
Seem'd to implore compaffion from the fkies-
Then downward bent them, fmote her heaving breast,
And with her fnowy hand her temples prefs'd-
Thus, in defpair, a moment's fpace the flood,
Then rush'd impetuous tow'rds the chryftal flood:

But

But ever as fhe reach'd the river's fide,
Sudden fhe ftopp'd, and gaz'd upon the tide ;
Glancing from thence, quick ey'd the little grove,
And backward flew, as on the wings of Love.

This scene the earl beheld her twice repeat;
And wonder'd much the cause of her retreat.
When now, approaching fecretly behind,
He faw Albina on the ground reclin'd;
And inftant knew her for the daughter fair
Of old Ernesto, tutor to his heir:
But O how high Earl Elwin's wonder rose,
To see her circling arms a babe inclose !
Down her pale cheeks unnumber'd ftreams defcend,
And broken fighs her lab'ring bofom rend:
In vain she stops the torrent of her eyes,
Her beating breaft continues it's fupplies!

The tender infant, delug'd o'er with woe,
Bids with her tears his ftreams of forrow flow:
As if to heal her poignant grief he strove,
And felt, inftinctively, maternal love!

The anxious mother wip'd his cherub face, And closely ftrain'd him in a fond embrace: Then, while she lull'd his infant griefs to reft, Her own fad tale in words like these express'd.

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Ah, loft Albina! wretched, ruin'd fair!

Happ'ly, my babe, thou know'ft not her despair;

Elfe wouldst thou mix, indeed, thy tears with mine,

And let a mother's woes be truly thine!

For fure thy form angelick beauty wears, And human woes are wept with angels tears!But thou art man-and might, unmov'd, furvey • The faddeft fcene misfortune can display!• Yet have I known-too foon to be renew'd !A father's feeling heart by grief fubdu'd; • Yet have I known an husband's ftreaming eyes • Mock the vain pomp which pageantry supplies:

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When noble Elwin mourn'd his Ella's doom,
• And follow'd weeping to her filent tomb;
• When good Ernefto fear'd Albina's fate,

And on her bed of fickness mournful fate!-
O cruel death, to plunge thy keenest dart
In happy Ella's breaft, nor touch Albina's heart!"
A pause of woe here stopp'd the pow'rs of speech,
But ftill her fighs the earl's foft bofom reach :
The cafual mention of his Ella's name,
Ernefto's daughter's obvious lofs of fame,
Join'd with the great refpect he bore her fire,
Firft fwell his breaft with forrow-then with ire;
Nor does he mourn her ills with idle grief,
But bends his thoughts, how heft to bring relief:
Refolves th' accurfed cause with speed to find,
And let refentment follow close behind;

Till his bafe heart, who dar'd her honour stain,
Should make a large amends, or suffer equal pain.

And now, while gen'rous Elwin penfive ftands,
He hears Albina clafp her iv'ry hands;

A deep-drawn figh's unwelcome found fucceeds,
Follow'd by words-at which his bofom bleeds.

How vainly once, Albina, didst thou dream,

• That thou shouldst bask in Fortune's brightest beam 1
Enjoy each pleasure of exalted life,

And be-O fatal charm-Lothario's wife!
Alas! perfidious youth, he only ftrove
To veil his purpose in the garb of love!
Each fpecious art too well the faithlefs knew,
Practis'd by false ones to enfnare the true:
Too well he knew the pow'r affection gave,
And bafely ruin'd her he swore to fave!
‹ And thou, unhappy offspring of my shame,
Thou too muft feel a mother's lofs of fame!
For foon-too foon !-thy blighted youth fhall know,
The child of Nature-is the child of Woe!

• Then

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