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Thou timid Maid! with silence crown'd,
With downy zone of magic bound,

And raven-colour'd vest,
Ah ! kindly on this drooping bead
Thy mild Lethæan poppies shed,

And soothe its pains to rest.
How often have I woo'd thy charms !
How often spread these eager arms

To win thy sweet embrace !
But thou, in airy chariot borne,
E’er leav'st a breast with anguish torn,

Some happier breast to trace.
From fears, which, at this lonely hour,
On villains' souls their fury pour,

Thank Heaven I am free,
And since it is no crime to pine
At stern Misfortune's mournful shrine,

Why, coyest Goddess ! flee?
For once let sorrow claim tlıy care,
For once throw off thy distant air,

Thy balmy gifts disclose;
These eye-lids press with leaden wand,
This body, by thy pinions fann'd,

To softest dreams compose.
Richmond, July 1803.


Who died a short time since at Nottingham, Aged five Years, three Months, and sixteen Days. "


"Of such is the kingdom of Heaven." Her doom was fix'd-nor tears nor prayers could save The lovely victim from an early grave. Her sister-spirits, of immortal frame, To guide her flight to heav'nly raptures came, To snatch her from the pangs of mortal care, And for another, better world” prepare. They bade her view the paths the just have trod, . Through storms and tempests to the throne of Göd:

Mark, how the great, the good, obey Death's call, How youth and age, robust and feeble, fall; How ev'ry order of the human race, That erst have crowded earth's extended space; That through the lapse of bury'd ages past Have to the king of terrors bow'd at last ! How many myriads, in th' embattled field, Did to his mandates all their valour yield: How many, 'neath the ocean's troubled wave, Sleep in the chambers of the liquid grave : How dire revenge the murd'rous pogniard steeps In human gore; how widow'd sorrow weeps O'er the lost partner of a life of love, Of joys unequalld but by those above; How filial duty, with her tearful eye, Pours o'er the parent couch th’ impassion'd sigh; How the fond lover sigh'd his soul to rest; How jealousy had mangled beauty's breast; How misery had pin'd her life away, And dire disease dissolv'd the human clay; How Merit sunk beneath Neglect's cold eye, And Genius wither'd, studious but to die : And how (sad spectacle !) the guilty mind, Struggling in vain to leave her crimes behind, Dreading to enter on the world to come, By Hope deserted, meets her fearful doom! And ah! dear object of parental care! When innocence like thine's compelld to share The panys of separation from those ties Indulgent nature to our griefs supplies, That bid the feeling heart its tears bestow O'er the keen agonies of kindred woe; When griefs like these thy sufferings create, When nothing can avert thy awful fate; When the grim tyrant aims the fatal dart, To pierce thy fond, thy guiltless, infant heart, To quench the lambent lustre of thine eye, To pale thy cheeks, and bid their roses die, To steal the perfume of thy vital breath, To shroud thy animated form in death, To stop the witching inusic of thy tongue, Dear to the old, transporting to the young,

Of all belov'd, and of thy parents blest:--
Let sympathetic silence“ muse the rest.”

Thus sang the min'string Angels in her ear,
Th' unnumber'd woes mortality must bear,
Ere it may reach that ever-blissful shore,
Where sorrow can assail the heart no more.

Resign'd and placid, mild, devoid of fear,
O'er others' woes she dropt the pitying tear,
Compassionating miseries thus dread,
That wait life's journey t’wards the peaceful dead.
Rejoic'd to see her own so near its close,
One, only one, sad thought could interpose
'Twixt her and endless happiness in view,
The parting pang to filial sorrow due
She thus sigh'd forth her long,--her last adieu !
« Tis mine to die-ye lov’d, ye honour'd pair
Who gave me life! Ye weeping kindred, share
The choicest blessings Heav'n vouchsafes to give.
Let me survive !---O God! yet let me live ! -
See, my lov'd parents, supplication's vain,
Oh, cease those tears--I cannot speak again.*"
The farewell clos'd---th' Almighty's fiat given,
Her spirit mounted to the gates of Heaven:
Attending hosts of angels round her throng,
And greet her welcome in seraphic song:
“ Hail infant purity! be thy abode
“ The bosom of thy father and thy God.p”

V. G.


THREE beauties in three Jifferent ages born,
Francef, Italys, and England did adorn;
The first in elegance of mind surpast;
The next in loveliness; in both the last :
The force of nature could no farther go,
To make a third, she join'd the other two.

IRATOR. * Her last words were these : “ I am sure to die :---God bless you all !---Papa, it is you I love. Oh! let me live! Pray God let me live! My dear Mamma! I cannot speak again.” + Grays Elegy. Heloise. Laura de Sades.



WHERE frowns yon

hill with beetling brow,*
O'er the pale water's eddying round,
Shall thy funereal honours grow,

And mark the wild, deserted ground.

From all their lonely haunts of woe,

The fabled forms of air shall glance,
Mount the low-murmuring stream below,

Or on the whirlwind's wing advance ;

Here fond remembrances ling’ring still

On friendship's heart thy praise portray,
Mazd rapture pour the trembling trill,

And join thine own ecstatic lay.

Peace, a cherubic maid, shall come,

And Science sage, a pilgrim old,
Bliss breath her aromatic bloom,

And Fancy her full flowers unfold.

The linnet here shall build her nest,

To harmonize the silent vale,
And, plac'd on thy cold, lifeless breast,

The sad harp court the passing gale.

Oft shall the Fates, terrific, throng

The blasted heath's wide, trackless space,
The clouds shall moan with sternest song,

And yells of mourning drear the place.

The shepherd, while, with pliant rod,

He hangs suspended o'er the wave,
Shall pause to mark thy still abode,

And crown with moss thy silent graveme

• There is a hill not far from Sydenham, from whence may be seen the burial place of the poet; and near his grave, buried among trees, is a slow-winding river, which cannot be seen unless pointed out.


Shall weep_till, rushing on the wind,

Mysterious squadrons crowd the sky,
Heave a deep, disinal dirge, combin'd,

And bid the mortal miscreant fly.

True Poesy's majestic queen

Shall stalk around thy holy clay,
Defend from blights the sacred green,

And scare the Elves of night away.


HAYMARKET. JULY 15.-Mr. Taylor, from the Bath stage, appeared in Lubin, in the Quaker. In figure, countenance, in style of singing and acting, this gentleman is the very counterpart of Mr. Incledon---alter et idem. In compass, strength, and melody of voice the resemblance is not so perfect ; but he is, nevertheless, a most agreeable singer, and his pretensions, as an actor, are far from inconsiderable. It would be almost worth while to turn Dryden's Amphytrion into an opera, for the sake of bringing forward this first and second APOLLO in the two Sosias. Nature has done so much towards the likeness, that it would be unfair to charge Mr. Taylor with being a mere imitator; his admiration of Mr. Incledon's talents may have led him to adopt, without premeditated effort, many of those peculiarities which, assisted by personal resemblance, bring our absent favourite so forcibly to recollection. Mr. Incledon, however, has no reason to be ashamed of his double. Mr. Taylor sang the airs of Lubin, and especially the Laughing song, in a very finished and effective manner. Mathews, in Solomon, with his Bundle of Proverbs, gave new life and humour to a piece which, of late, has seldom escaped disapprobation at the dropping of the curtain.

16.-A lady, named Mrs. Kingston, made her first appearance on any stage in Louisa, in the Deserter, but her fears were so very predominant as totally to prevent us from forming any judgment of her capabilities.

25.---Love laughs at Locksmiths.---A musical farce, adapted to our stige, by Mr. Colman, from a French piece by J. N. Bouilly, acted in Paris, under the title of “ Une Folie.The plot of this piece is similar to that of the Midnight Hour, Spanish Barber, Lock and Key, Padlock, and innumerable other dramatic entertainments, familiar to the English audience. The contrivances of an enterprising young lover to rescue a pretty ward out of the power of a jealous old guardian, are materials that are inexhaustible, and can never tire.

“For ever seen, and yet for ever new.” We seck for the merit of the performance in the ingenuity of the stratagems by which the lover's impediments are removed. In this respect Love laughs at Locksmiths need not give way to any preceding exhibitions. Neatness is coinbined with novelty, and interest with humour. The schemes of Captain Beldare (a) and his servant Risk (b), to elude the caution of old Vigil (c), are frustrated only to be renewed with additional ardour and dexterity: when they are

(a) Mr. Elliston. (b) Mr. Mathews. (c) Mr. Denman.

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