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In fcanty life eternity we taste,
View the first ages, and inform the last ;
Arts, hift'ry, laws, we purchase with a look,
And keep, like fate, all nature in a book.

NIGHT.

NWer all the earth, the gloomy veil of night;

OW filence reigns, and folemn darkness spreads,

Guilt trembles, and is feiz'd with fudden dread,
And, waits, with horror, the return of light.

Light will return-but not to them return

In whofe dark fouls no ray of virtue shines;
Not all the fplendour of the fprightly morn,
Can clear the mift that clouds the guilty mind.

Though fashion throws a veil before their crimes,
And guilt may pafs conceal'd in pleasure's name :
Yet confcience will be heard-remorfe, at times,
Will hold a mirror that reveals their shame.

The law of God's engrav'd upon our hearts,
Inftinct-or reafon-or fome ray of light,
Which facred wisdom to the mind imparts,
To teach us how to think, and act aright.

Though confcience from the breaft awhile may stray,
She never totally gives up her reign;
But foon or late, fhe will refume her fway,
And bring remorfe and anguifh in her train.

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But darkness has no horrors to the mind,
Where virtue and the fear of God do dwell;
Was chaos to return again, they'd find

An inward light that would its gloom dispel.

Though forked lightnings from the heavens dart,
Or o'er their heads fhould awful thunder roll,
It would not move the good and virtuous heart,
Nor give one terror to the guiltless soul.

THE LOTTERY.

As where crowds attend at Fortune's call,

'S lately faunt'ring through the Hall,

And Anak's giant fons are feen,

With haughty brow, and threat'ning mein,
I ftopp'd, attentively to view

The features of the anxious crew;
Who, oft deceiv'd by Fortune's wiles,
Expected her uncertain smiles.

The clock ftrikes nine-the wheel turns round,
Obedient to the well-known found.
The tickets drawn, with frequent bawl,
"Blank!-blank !"-re-echoes thro' the Hall:
A difmal gloom o'er-fhadows all.

At length, horfe Stentor loudly cries-
"Ten thoufand pounds!" O'noble prize!
"Ten thoufand!" quickly flies around,
And each eye sparkles at the sound;
But foon by various paffions torn,
Their breafts with various tumults burn.
This fmiles with joy, that starts with fear,
This bites his lips, that tears his hair;
Another doubts, and trembling cries-
"I hope my number is a prize!"—
The wheel is fhut; with progress flow,
Returning crowds in filence go.
The day's fuccefs is quickly fhown,
And Fortune's favours all made known.

The tradefman to the office flies; His tickets, blanks, falute his eyes; Amaz'd, he utters many a moan, All hope of thirty thoufand's gone; Attacks Dame Fortune as unkind, And cries, with discontented mindWhy, Fortune, play me fuch vile pranks, "To turn your wheel, and give me blanks ? "Enrich'd with vaft increase of store, "I hop'd to keep my coach and four. "All blanks! Alas! my blifs is flown, "My money loft, my credit gone !” Home he returns; defpairing, ties The halter round his neck, and dies

Such is the fate of many a fool,
Who idly fpurns the golden rule;
And thus prefers uncertain gain,
To honeft Labour's golden mean.
Thrice happy he, who nobly dares
To laugh at idle Fortune's fnares;
Procuring, with affiduous toil,

The well-earn'd riches of his native foil.

TO RELIGION.

BY CHARLES WATKINS, ESQ.

FRF Raunch the tear which Anguish bids to roll;

RIEND of the drooping heart! ftill whisp'ring peace,

The balm of Comfort and of Hope increase,
And truftlefs Fear and dull-ey'd Doubt control,
And raise to ecftacy the grateful foul,

And teach mankind the paths of blifs to know,
And how, with tranquil awe, their God adore ;
Reveal the fource, whence only grace could flow,
And future spheres-when woe fhall be no more;
Thou canft alone thofe facred aids bestow,

Which calm the forrowing foul thro' each fad fcene below!

TO A LADY,

Who refused to accept of a KNIFE from the Writer..

SAID TO BE WRITTEN BY MR, SHERIDAN.

Aknife, dear girl! cuts love, they fay:

Mere modifh love perhaps it may;

For any tool, of any kind,

Can fep'rate what was never join'd.
The knife that cuts our love in two,
Will have much tougher work to do;

Muft cut your foftnefs, worth, and fpirit,
Down to the vulgar fize and merit.
To level yours with modern tafte,
Muft cut a world of fenfe to waite,
And from your fingle beauty's flore
Chip what would dizen out a fcore.
The felf fame blade from me muft fever
Senfation, judgment, fight, for ever;
All mem'ry of endearments paft;
All hopes of comfort long to laft;
All that makes fourteen years with you
A fummer-and a fhort one too;
All that affection feels and fears,

When hours, without feem like years

you,

Till that be done, (and I'd as foon

Believe this knife would cut the moon,)
Accept my prefent undeterr'd,
And leave all proverbs to the herd.
If in a kifs (delicious treat!)
Your lips acknowledge the receipt,
Love, fond of fuch fubftantial fare,
And fond to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will difdain,
Save only-cut and come again..

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THE BRITISH

POETICAL MISCELLANY.

ELEGY

ON THE THIRTY-FIRST OF DECEMBER.

YES, I will climb yon rough rock's giddy height,

YES

That o'er the ocean bends his brow fevere;And, as I mufe on TIME'S NEGLECTED FLIGHT, Wait the last sunshine of the parting Year!

Why do the winds fo fadly feem to rave!

Why broods fuch folemn horror o'er the deep!
Is it that FANCY points the yawning grave ;—
And, fick'ning, fhudders at the pond'rous fleep?

For, O! fince LAST DECEMBER's hoary head
Bow'd to oblivion's wave, and funk beneath,
From this ftrange world what flutt'ring clouds are fled,
To throng the caverns of relentless Death.

And ev'ry tranfitory fhade is loft,

That, in its course, was fondly call'd "TO-DAY!" Spring's fweets are gone! and Summer's flow'ry boast! And Autumn's purple honours pafs'd away!

And now, though Winter, in rude mantle dreft,
Extends his icy fceptre o'er the plain;

Soon fhall he fink on April's dewy breast,

And laughing May shall re-affume her reign!

But MAN, when once his bright day's flufh is o'er, And youth's too fleeting pleasures take their wing,

Muft on life's fcene re-vegetate no more,

But leap its gulph, to find a fecond spring.

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