And say, thou solace of each care!
Nor less than author of my joy!
A solace that I do not share;

A sweetness that could never cloy.

Myrtilla! say, recluse from all

That restless fashion would esteem; When storms have vex'd this rocking ball, Was peace with us? or but a dream?

Surrounded then, as some would think,
With prospect useless, void, and drear;
When nature's self appear'd to sink
In sorrow o'er her dying year;

Have we not heard, from scenes like these,
Her awful, yet maternal voice-
"'Mid snow-clad plains and leafless trees,
Still let DOMESTIC LOVE REJOICE.”

P. Courtier.

HOPE.

AN ELEGY.

AMIDST the storms that ruffle life,
Amidst the ills mankind deplore;
War, sickness, waut, domestic strife,

All their worst stars can have in store.

How comes it still this scene they prize,
Pursue their way tho' tempests lour,
Toil on beneath black frowning skies,
And wish far off the fatal hour?

While youth leads on the sportive train,
When pleasure spreads her purple wing,
No wonder all, while these remain,
Should wish continuance of their spring.

But winter damping ev'ry joy,

When dead to love, or lost to fame; Tho' pain and grief our hours employ, The wish perpetual is the same!

What is it, then, can'thus engage
In ev'ry season, ev'ry state?

'Tis Hope that cheers ev'n drooping age, And bids us shun the stroke of fate!

Hope, that can still assistance lend,
To smooth the rugged thorny way,
The poor's support, the captive's friend,
Which bids ev'n sorrow's sons be gay.

What choicer bliss could heav'n bestow, What happier boon could man receive, To sooth his cares, while here below,

Tho' oft accus'd if it deceive?

The kind deception rising still,
Pain felt with promis'd bliss repays;
With pleasing prospects prompt to fill
The never ending flight of days.

Nor does the pleasing vision fade,

Nor cease its influence to impart,

Ere nature's springs are all decay'd,

And life's last pulse beats at the heart.

Ev'n now I feel its genial pow'rs,

While adverse fortune's frowns I bear, Which bids me hope for calmer hours, And drives away the fiend Despair.

Then let me hail thee, heav'nly guest!
Nor e'er in vain thy aid implore;

Till fate decrees eternal rest,
And all my sorrows are no more!

Literary Magazine.

AN OLD BALLAD.

HE that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from tear-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old time makes these decay,

So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love can bind,
Kindle never dying fires;

Where these are not, what suffice

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes?

Anonymous.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. BENNET, Curate of the Parish of Wirksworth, Derbyshire.

BENNET! although no lofty flights of verse
Preserve thy name and decorate thy hearse,
Nor brass nor marble mark thy humble clay,
And boast to guard thy memory from decay:
The genuine tears by sorrowing friendship shed,
Reward thy virtues with a richer meed
Than sculptur'd brass or marble can bestow,
And long those tears around thy grave shall flow.

Mr. T. Blore.

ON MR. BACON'S ELEGIAC STANZAS

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE EARL COWPER.

ILLUSTRIOUS Cowper! o'er thy hallow'd urn
In plaintive strains their loss the muses mourn:
And, whilst their briny tears preserve thy name,
They salt thy bard and give their Bacon fame.

Ibid.

TRANSLATION OF A SPANISH POEM.

AH me! thou relic of that faithless fair!
Ан

Sad changes have I suffer'd since that day,
When, in this valley, from her long loose hair
I bore the relic of my love! away.
Well did I then believe Diana's truth,

For soon true love each jealous care represses;
And fondly thought that never other youth

Should wanton with the maiden's unbound tresses.

Here on the cold clear Ezla's breezy side,
My hand amid her ringlets wont to rove;
She proffer'd now the lock, and now deny'd,
With all the baby playfulness of love.
Here the false maid, with many an artful tear,

Made me each rising thought of doubt discover, And vow'd and wept-till hope had ceas'd to fear, Ah me! beguiling like a child her lover.

Witness thou how that fondest, falsest fair,
Has sigh'd and wept on Ezla's shelter'd shore,
And vow'd eternal truth, and made me swear
My heart no jealousy should harbour more.
Ah! tell me! could I but believe those eyes?
Those lovely eyes with tears my cheek bedewing,
When the mute eloquence of tears and sighs
I felt, and trusted, and embrac'd my ruin.