more.

I lost my way, and my companions me,
And all, their comforts and tranquillity.
Mid-day it was, and, as the sun declined,
The good, found early, I no more could find:
The men drank much, to whet the appetite;
And, growing heavy, drank to make them light;
Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
Their cheerfulness did but a moment last;
Something fell short, or something overpast.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
Till" civil dudgeon "grew, and peace would smile no

Now on the colder water faintly shone The sloping light — the cheerful day was gone; Frown'd every cloud, and from the gather'd frown The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down. My torpid senses now my fears obey'd, When the fierce lightning on the eye-balls play'd. Now, all the freshness of the morning fled, My spirits burden'd, and my heart was dead; The female servants show'd a child their fear, And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer; And when, at length, the dreaded storm went

past,

And there was peace and quietness at last, 'T was not the morning's quiet—it was not Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot:

It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain.

So many a day, in life's advance, I knew;
So they commenced, and so they ended too.
All Promise they all Joy as they began!
But Joy grew less, and vanish'd as they ran!
Errors and evils came in many a form,
The mind's delusion, and the passions' storm.

The promised joy, that like this morning rose, Broke on my view, then clouded at its close; E'en Love himself, that promiser of bliss, Made his best days of pleasure end like this: He mix'd his bitters in the cup of joy Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy.

THE MAGNET.

WHY force the backward heart on love, That of itself the flame might feel? When you the Magnet's power would prove, Say, would you strike it on the Steel?

From common flints you may by force

Excite some transient sparks of fire;
And so, in natures rude and coarse,
Compulsion may provoke desire.

But when, approaching by degrees,
The Magnet to the Steel draws nigh,
At once they feel, each other seize,
And rest in mutual sympathy.

So must the Lover find his way

To move the heart he hopes to win
Must not in distant forms delay ·
Must not in rude assaults begin.

For such attractive power has Love,
We justly each extreme may fear :
'Tis lost when we too distant prove,
And when we rashly press too near.

STORM AND CALM.

[FROM THE ALBUM OF THE DUCHEss of rutland.]

Ar sea when threatening tempests rise,

When angry winds the waves deform, The seaman lifts to Heaven his eyes,

And deprecates the dreaded storm. "Ye furious powers, no more contend; "Ye winds and seas, your conflict end; "And on the mild subsiding deep, "Let Fear repose and Terror sleep!"

At length the waves are hush'd in peace, O'er flying clouds the sun prevails; The weary winds their efforts cease,

And fill no more the flagging sails; Fix'd to the deep the vessel rides Obedient to the changing tides;

No helm she feels, no course she keeps,
But on the liquid marble sleeps.

Sick of a Calm the sailor lies,

And views the still, reflecting seas; Or, whistling to the burning skies,

He hopes to wake the slumbering breeze : The silent noon, the solemn night, The same dull round of thoughts excite, Till, tired of the revolving train, He wishes for the Storm again.

Thus, when I felt the force of Love,

When all the passion fill'd my breast, When, trembling, with the storm I strove, And pray'd, but vainly pray'd, for rest; 'T was tempest all, a dreadful strife For ease, for joy, for more than life: 'T was every hour to groan and sigh In grief, in fear, in jealousy.

I suffer'd much, but found at length
Composure in my wounded heart;
The mind attain'd its former strength,
And bade the lingering hopes depart;
Then Beauty smiled, and I was gay,
I view'd her as the cheerful day;
And if she frown'd, the clouded sky
Had greater terrors for mine eye.

I slept, I waked, and, morn and eve,
The noon, the night appear'd the same;

No thought arose the soul to grieve,
To me no thought of pleasure came;
Doom'd the dull comforts to receive

Of wearied passions still and tame.— "Alas!" I cried, when years had flown"Must no awakening joy be known? "Must never Hope's inspiring breeze "Sweep off this dull and torpid ease— "Must never Love's all-cheering ray Upon the frozen fancy play — "Unless they seize the passive soul, "And with resistless power control? "Then let me all their force sustain, "And bring me back the Storm again."

SATIRE.

I LOVE not the satiric Muse:
No man on earth would I abuse;
Nor with empoison'd verses grieve
The most offending son of Eve.
Leave him to law, if he have done
What injures any other son :
It hardens man to see his name
Exposed to public mirth or shame;
And rouses, as it spoils his rest,
The baser passions of his breast.