Fearful yawns the dark profound! Muttering thunders heave the ground!

Down, through her riven entrails, lo! we sweep, "Till a dim distant light just glimmers from the deep. Behold the damned crew

O'er the furnace blue;

By the brimstone's livid flame,

66

Doing a deed without a name:"

Around them heavier hangs the cavern'd gloom:

While summon'd to foretel

The dark designs of hell;

In accents dread the monstrous throng,
Chaunt the strange prophetic song,

And write, in blood, the fated warrior's doom.

EPIGRAM.

NED's thrifty spouse, her taste to please,
With rival dames at auctions vies;
Is charm'd with every thing she sees,
And every thing she sees she buys:

Ned feels at every sale enchanted-
Such costly wares! so wisely sought!
Bought because they may be wanted,

Wanted because they may be bought.

S. W.

S.

HOPE'S INVITATION.

BY MISS L. S. TEMPLE.

THE shades of the night are now passing away,
And morn in her balmy effulgence is seen;
The lark pours his cadence to welcome the day,
And the pipe of the shepherd steals soft o'er the

green.

What voice is't I hear so harmoniously sweet?

Thro' the woodlands its melody bursts on my ear; Rosy Health on the mountains it tells me to greet, And loudly proclaims, 'tis the prime of the year.

66 Why musest thou here, lonely wanderer, it cries, While Pleasure's soft warblings call thee away, While the roses of morning are feasting thine eyes, And thou seest the bright smiles of the monarch of day?

For thee the gay breeze of the summer awakes,
For thee are disclos'd the fair tints of the sky;
Each beauty of Nature with eloquence speaks,
And tells thee, that youth is the season for joy.

With the happy then mingle, like others be gay,
Nor thus all in silence and solitude mourn;
O haste from this gloom to the radiance of day,

And enjoy the bright moments that ne'er can return.

See Phœbus ascending his glory reveals,

On the green-wave gay dances his glitt'ring ray, And hark how the merry bells ring out their peals; Why lingʼrest thou here? Come away, come away!"

Begone, thou false Siren! thou charm'st me no more;
In vain thy soft accents to me are address'd;
Thou canst not the peace of this bosom restore,
Nor lull the dark storms of misfortune to rest.
Too long have thy visions deluded my sight,
Too long have thy flatteries poison'd my ear;
But fled is each sun-beam of transient delight,
And now all thy arts and thy falshoods appear.

When life's glowing landscape first smil'd on my view,
And each throb of this heart beat to Joy's lively

strain:

When Content o'er my path her mild drapery threw,
And unfelt was the turbulent empire of Pain;
Then gladly my mind thy sweet nectar receiv'd,
And careless I wander'd on Fancy's light wing;
Too fondly was each blooming fiction believ'd,
Which told me that life would be always a spring.

Still, still the wide prospect all lovely appear'd,
The flow'rs were unfaded, the skies were serene,
And still the gay structure of Fancy I rear'd,

Still, still, in bright colours the future was seen.
Ah! treacherous calm, that so soon was to cease!
Wild phantoms, vain thoughts, that laid Reason
asleep :

Full short was the sun-shine, and transient the peace, And those too, Enchantress, soon left me to weep.

Then seek not, deceiver, to tempt me anew,

Or to dupe the sad heart thou already hast wreck'd; Not for me does the spring its soft violets strew, Not for me are the woodlands with verdure bedeck'd!

The smiles of the morning I welcome no more,

For gone is the season when beauty could please; In vain may the warblers their melody pour,

And unfelt is the breath of the wantoning breeze.

And thou too, bright orb! what hast thou to bestow ? Canst thou give to my eyes the lov'd forms they have lost?

Can thy radiance disperse the thick low'rings of woe? Can it thaw the stern rigour of Fate's bitter frost? And youth too, that oft-boasted period of joy,

When life's mantling current mounts high in each vein,

What, alas! can its lively emotions supply,

When all those emotions are waken'd by pain?

Oh shades of the past that successively rise!
Pale spectres of joys that forever are fled !
At whose mournful presence gay happiness dies,
My footsteps who follow wherever I tread :
"Tis ye that my soul of all rapture beguile;

Ye fade the luxuriance of summer's soft bloom; Ye dim the fair lustre of morn's sunny smile,

And from the gay throng call my mind to the tomb.

When day's golden lamp has descended to rest,

And is lord of the wild blushing landscape no more; When the veil of the evening steals slow o'er the west, And the night breeze, awaking, blows fresh on the shore:

"Tis then that I wander to welcome its sighs,

And to muse o'er the slumber of Nature's soft

charms;

More lovely this twilight than noon's vivid dies;

How soothing the silence no tumult alarms!

But what are those accents I hear in the breeze?

And what is that pale form, which weeping I view ? Where now is the power of each beauty to please? Where now the repose which my sad bosom knew ? Wherever I gaze, the dear features appear,

In the world's busy haunts, or the dark lonely

grove;

When the sighs of the low breeze of evening I hear,
I hear too the sweet warbling notes of my love.

Fly, fly, then, Remembrance, where Happiness reigns;
O visit some sky more unclouded than mine:
Reside in the breast where no canker remains,
Where the broad beams of pleasure unceasingly
shine :

So shall thy approach be with rapture beheld,
And there may'st thou spread thy gay page to the
sight,

And I taste those blessings thy presence withheld, While Hope's dear illusions still, still may delight. NEWARK, JAN. 10, 1803.