put it into the press. For my part I will spare no pains to embellish and adorn the whole with the most natural and lively figures; and I shall not despair of producing an edition as beautiful in the eyes of all men as the dear original is at present in mine. Methinks I could read it with
"If therefore you will do me the favour to let me have your company this evening, and bring this incomparable piece along with you, it will add to the entertainment of every one, but particularly of him who is always with great respect "Yours,
This letter was written by a gentleman who a few years before had lost a very amiable wife; and the intention of it was to invite the Dean and his company to supper, particularly a young lady of the name of Marshal, about eighteen years of age, with a fortune of 30,000 pounds, who was lodged in the Dean's study, his house being filled with visitors.
WARREN (WIFE OF SIR JOHN
WARREN, BART. LATE ADMIRAL ON THE HALIFAX STATION) ON HER
OH! clime so chilling to the heart's best glow,
And all the nobler energies that flow
From sense and feeling-taste and virtue join'd,
That stamp a model of the perfect mind
Yet still amidst its various ills appears,
A valued boon that e'en this spot endears.
Which like a star amid the gloom of night
Sheds its pure lustre to the grateful sight.
The hapless wretch, just sinking to despair,
Raising with hope the lowered brow of care,
Feels its soft radiance e'en reflected there.
'Tis she-the brilliant star of cheering light
That shines forever steady ever bright,
Whose kindly influence gently beams on all,
But those whose errors bid its glance appal.
Her peerless deeds the valued lesson give,
To teach how nobly worth and wisdom live.
Whose heavenly efforts bid the bigot's mind,
In a discarded child a blessing find.
Whatever suffers claims her fondest cares,
And each by turns her christian bounty shares;
To the still house of grief she bends her way,
Consoling e'en to hope the sorrowing day.
In every state displays her blameless life,
A model for the parent as the wife.
Whilst GENIUS, judgement, learning, taste refin'd,
Speak the rare treasures of her cultured mind.
So formed to bless,-kind heaven bestows the power,
And on her head does every blessing shower.
Tho' sorrow's shaft awhile her peace annoyed,
And hope in one dear only son destroyed-
A noble prop, just raised to bless her love
So reared-her virtues in his life to prove.
Awhile despairing at the fatal stroke,
Yet ne'er her duty to her God forsook.
All care for self in other good is lost,
Pride of a sex, as one my greatest boast,
Since in ber nature every worth is traced,
Matured by wisdom, and by beauty graced.
But cease-no nore admiring eyes must gaze
On all those charms which so much beggar praise.
Now to a more congenial clime she goes,
Where every blessing heaven on man bestows
Awaits, to welcome home from scenes so wild
Its bless'd, admired and truly virtuous child.
And may each good protracted life attend,
And HE, her bosom's best, her HONOURED friend,
Remain to bless-whilst filial love prepares
Its sweet return of fond affection's cares-
May thus for her each rapture breathe around,
By love encircled, and with honours crown'd.
Whilst I no more beneath her friendly eye.
Must view those varied charms that never die.
But in my breast shall ever fondly live,
The dear remembrance all their power can give.
POLYMNIA.
THERE is a voice of magick power,
To charm the old, delight the young-
In lordly hall, in rustick bower,
In every clime, in every tongue,
Howe'er its sweet vibration rung,
In whispers low, in poet's lays,
There lives not one who has not hung,
Enraptur'd on the voice of praise.
The timid child, at that soft voice,
Lifts for a moment's space the eye;
It bids the fluttering heart rejoice,
And stays the step prepar'd to fly :
'Tis pleasure breathes that short quick sigh,
And flushes o'er that rosy face:
Whilst shame and infant modesty
Shrink back with hestitating grace.
The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek,
At that sweet voice still deeper glows;
Her quivering lips in vain would seek,
To hide the bliss her eyes disclose;
The charm her sweet confusion shows,
Oft springs from some low broken word;
O praise! to her how sweetly flows
Thine accent from the lov'd one heard
The Hero, when a people's voice
Proclaims their idol victor mear,
Feels he not then his soul rejoice,
Their shouts of love, of praise to hear? Yes! fame to generous minds is dearIt pierces to their inmost core;
He weeps, who never shed a tear, He trembles, who ne'er shook before.
The Poet too-Ah well I deem,
Small is the need the tale to tell ; Who knows not that his thought, his dream, On thee at noon, at midnight dwell? Who knows not that the magick spell Can charm his every care away; In memory cheer his gloomy cell, In hope can lend a deathless day.
'Tis sweet to watch affection's eye,
To mark the tear with love replete,
To feel the softly breathing sigh,
When friendship's lips the tones repeat;
But oh a thousand times more sweet,
The praise of those we love to hear !
Like balmy showers in summer heat,
It falls upon the greedy ear.
The lover lulls his rankling wound,
By hanging on his fair one's name;
The mother listens for the sound
Of her young warrior's growing fame ;
Thy voice can soothe the mourning dame,
Of her soul's wedded partner riven ;
Who cherishes the hallow'd flame,
Parted on earth to meet in heaven!
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