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BY R. SHEPHERD, D.D.
REMOTE from those enchanting bowers,
Where revels frantic Folly ;
By thee inspir'd, by Fancy led,
Where o'er the joyless plain
Marks Melancholy's reign.
Where chearful gales forget to blow,
The cloud-capt mountain's height
All avenues of the dreary way
Of soul-enlivening light.
Where Grief sad social solace seeks,
The wing'd chimeras fly.
Rack'd with ideal tortures, Spleen
With shadowy faulchions scare ;
The phantom thro' the air.
Hark, softly stealing on the ear
The music of Despair ;
Of youthful widow'd fair.
Sorrows that orphan bosoms pierce,
Snatch'd by unpitying fate;
No fostering hand's kind solace nigh,
Surveys their helpless state.
Thus the vague group of vernal flies,
Sport in the glistening ray;
Each insect veers away.
When Pleasure's madding tide o'erswells
Of misery let me stray ;
BY THE REV. WILLIAM MASON, M. A.
Ah! cease this kind persuasive strain, Which, when it flows from friendship's tongue, However weak, however vain, O’erpowers beyond the Siren's song: Leave me, my friend, indulgent go, And let me muse upon my woe. Why lure me from these pale retreats? Why rob me of these pensive sweets ? Can Music's voice, can Beauty's eye, Can Painting's glowing hand, supply A charm so suited to my mind, As blows this hollow gust of wind, As drops this little weeping rill
Soft-tinkling down the moss-grown hill, Whilst through the west, where sinks the crimson Day, Meek Twilight slowly sails, and waves her banners
Say, from Amiction's various source
And rustle round the lake below,
To thee, whose young and polish'd brow