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Oly, thou first-born child of Hell,
To some far distant, dreary, doleful plain,
Where starting Fear, and agonizing Pain,
And black Remorse, and sullen Sorrows dwell :

Where, arm'd with poison, racks, and death,
Stern Horror rears his gorgon

head
And writhing dreadful on their iron-bed
The purple Furies grind their cank’red teeth;
While perch'd on stubs of trees the shriek-owl sings,
And screaming deadly hoarse night-ravens flap their

wings !

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Thither embost with vary'd woe,
Misfortune's pallid slave retires-
Hark, hark he raves 1-Thy tablet shew,
Charg'd with damn'd ghost, and sulph’rous fires.
Oh mercy, Heaven !-Upstaring stands
His grisly hair; his nerveless hands
Shake; o'er his face the curdled blood,
From his swoln heart, with tidings flies,

“ Give me another horse," he cries, « Oh bring the poison'd bowl, let loose life's crimson

66 Alood !"

Sad, sacred wretch !—Thou power divine,
Whose god-like word from chaos dark and dread
Bad Discord fly, and Light sweet-smiling spread
Her orient wing, controul this breast of mine!

And still when gloomy thoughts prevail,
Oh short, and partial be their sway!

And beam'd from thee, let pleasure's gladsome ray
The mournful progeny of grief dispel.
So shall the chequer'd scenes of life delight,
As morning brighter peers preceded still by night.

ODE IX.

TO

DESPAIR.

BY MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.

Thou spectre, of terrific mien,
Lord of the hopeless heart and hollow eye,
In whose fierce train each form is seen
That drives sick Reason to insanity!
I woo thee with unusual prayer,
“ Grim visaged, comfortless Despair :"
Approach ; in me a willing victim find,
Who seeks thine iron sway—and calls thee kind!

Ah! hide for ever from my sight The faithless flatterer Hope-whose pencil, gay, Portrays some vision of delight, Then bids the fairy tablet fade away ; While in dire contrast, to mine eyes Thy phantoms, yet more hideous, rise, And Memory draws, from Pleasure's wither'd

flow'r, Corrosives for the heart of fatal power!

I bid the traitor Love, Adieu ! Who to this fond, believing bosom came, A guest insidious and untrue, With Pity's soothing voice,-in Friendship's name ; The wounds he gave, nor Time shall cure Nor Reason teach me to endure. And to that breast mild Patience pleads in vain, Which feels the curse--of meriting its pain.

Yet not to me, tremendous power !
Thy worst of spirit-wounding pangs impart,
With which, in dark conviction's hour,
Thou strik'st the guilty unrepentant heart!
But of illusion long che sport,
That dreary, tranquil gloom I court
Where my past errors

I

may still deplore And dream of long-lost happiness no more !

To thee I give this tortured breast,
Where hope arises but to foster pain ;
Ah! lull its agonies to rest !
Ah! let me never be deceived again!
But callous, in thy deep repose
Behold, in long array, the woes
Of the dread future, calm and undismay'd
Till I may claim the hope that shall not fade !

ODE X.

ON

ENpr.

BY R. SHEPHERD, D.D.

Beneath yon chain of barrei rocks,
Where niggard Nature ne'er unlocks

One hoard of cheerful green;
The brown yew forms a gloomy shade,
The blasted oak erects its head,

A dreary wasteful scene.
O haste, O fly th’accursed cell,
Where Envy's fiendly faction dwell!
Else shall her glance, malignant cast,
The fairest shoots of Merit blast:
He risks his ease, who ventures nigh
The baleful witchcraft of her eye.

Ev'n now from her infernal dark abyss,

At Merit's name she lifts her head,

At Merit's name prepar'd to shed Their influence all her snaky tresses hiss.

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