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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 head
Thy mild Lethaean 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,
Eer 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! fleet
For once let sorrow claim thy 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.

THE APOTHEOSIS OF MISS MELLO R, Who died a short time since at Nottingham, Aged five Years, three Months, and sirteen Days. . BY WALENTINE GREEN, ESQ. “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 God:



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 unequall'd 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 1) 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 compell'd to share
The pangs 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 music of thy tongue,
Dear to the old, transporting to the young.

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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 towards 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:#”
V. G.


THREE beauties in three different ages born, Frances, Italyś, 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. - ADMIRAtoR. * Herlast 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.” t 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,
Maz'd 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 grave—

* 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.


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night Hour, Spanish Barber, Lock and Key, Paikock, and innumerable other :

dramatic entertaininents, familiar to the English audience. The contrivances of

an enterprising young lover to rescue a pretty ward oat of the power of a jealous o - - - - - - - - - o old guardian, are materials that are inexhaustitle, and can never tire. o

“For ever seen, and yet for ever new.”
We week for the merit of the performance in the ingenuity of the stratagems
by which the lover', impediments are removed. In this respect Lore laughs at
Lookomoth, need not give way to any preceding exhibitions. Neatness is con-
bined with novelty, and interest with humour. The schemes of Captain Bel-
dare (2) and his servant Rak (b), to elude the caution of old Pigil (c), are frus-
traved 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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