}

Thou great, eternal, awful, gracious, cause Of nature's being, motion, form, and laws ! That gav'st me tastes of pleasure and of pain; That gav'st me passions which alternate reign, And reason, passions riot to restrain : By whom I first inspir'd this mortal breath; In whom I trust for being after death : Should I enjoy thy first great blessing, health; And should thy providence bestow me wealth, And crown me parent of a numerous race, Whose virtues should my name and fortune grace: To love, to duty, should my fair adhere; Should ev'ry friend approve himself sincere; Should'st thou my life reserve to ripest age, And give me all the wisdom of the sage : O! let no cursed avarice, my store With-hold from friend distress'd, or from the poor! In love, or friendship, or paternal care, In each enjoyment with the world I share, Through life, O! give this feeling heart to be For ever warm with gratitude to thee!

But should thy wisdom the reverse ordain, And send me pale disease, and life consuming pain; Should pinching poverty still keep me down, To pine beneath my fellow mortals frown; Did I paternal feelings never know, Or should my fruitful loins bring future woe; Should an unfaithful wife dishonour bring; Should slight of fancied friends my bosom wring;

Should my weak mind endure the scoff of fame,
And dulness be my substituted name;
Should nature early find herself outworn,
And that her earth to earth must soon return,
Without a friend to comfort or to mourn-

Amidst this gloomy, complicated throng
Of sharp afflictions, while I press along
Through each or real pain or seeming ill,
O give me resignation to thy will!

}

J. F. Bryant, of Bristol, Tobacco-pipe maker.

TO A LADY.
An Idyllion.

To thee, sweet smiling maid, I bring
The beauteous progeny of spring:
In every breathing bloom I find
Some pleasing emblem of thy mind.
The blushes of that op'ning rose,
Thy tender modesty disclose.
These snow white lillies of the vale,
Diffusing fragrance to the gale,
No ostentatious tints assume,
Vain of their exquisite perfume;
Careless, and sweet, and mild, we see
In these a lovely type of thee.
In yonder gay enamell'd field
Serene that azure blossom smil'd;

Not changing with the changeful sky,
Its faithful tints inconstant fly,
For unimpair'd by winds and rain
I saw the unaltered hue remain.
So, were thy mild affections prov'd,
Thy heart by fortune's frown unmov'd,
Pleas'd to administer relief,

In troublous times would solace grief.
These flowers with genuine beauty glow:
The tints from nature's pencil flow :
What artist could improve their bloom ?
Or meliorate their sweet perfume?
Fruitless the vain attempt, like these
Thy native truth, thy artless case,

Fair, unaffected maid, can never fail to please.

Monthly Review.

ΤΟ ΤΙΜΕ.

CAPRICIOUS foe to human joy,

Still varying with the fleeting day;
With thee the purest raptures cloy,

The fairest prospects fade away.
Nor worth, nor pow'r, thy wings can bind,
All earthly pleasures fly with thee;
Inconstant as the wav'ring wind,

That plays upon the summer's sea.

I court thee not, ungentle guest,
For I have e'er been doom'd to find

Life's gayest hours but idly drest,

With sweets that pall the sick'ning mind :

When smiling hope, with placid mien,
Around my couch did fondly play;
Too oft the aery form I've seen,
On downy pinions glide away.

But when perplex'd with pain or care,

My couch with thorns was scatter'd round; And when the pale priestess of despair, My mind in fatal spells had bound : When the dull hours no joy could bring, No bliss my weary fancy prove; I mark'd thy leaden pond'rous wing, With tardy pace unkindly move.

If such thy gifts, O Time! for thee
My sated heart shall ne'er repine;
I vow content to fate's decree,
And with thy thorn thy roses twine;
Yet, e'er thy fickle reign shall end,

The balmy sweets of friendship's hour,

I'll with my cup of sorrow blend,

And smile regardless of thy pow'r.

Mrs. Robinson's Poems.

THE CHILD OF SORROW.

COLD blew the wind-no gleam of light,

When Ellen left her home,
And brav'd the horrors of the night,
O'er dreary wilds to roam.
The lovely maid had late been gay,
When hope and fortune smil'd,

But now alas! to grief a prey
Was Ellen, sorrow's child.

She long was William's promis'd bride,
But ah! how sad her doom,

The gentle youth in manly pride,
Was summon'd to the tomb!
No more those joys shall Ellen prove,
Which many an hour beguil'd,
From morn to eve she mourns her love,
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.

With fault'ring steps away she flies
O'er William's grave to weep,
For Ellen there with tears and sighs
Her watch would often keep;
The pitying angel saw her woe
And came with aspect mild,
Thy tears shall now no longer flow,
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.