FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.

ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me,
At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam,
Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking, The language alternate of rapture and woe:

Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know.

Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow,
Or pale disappointment to darken my way,
What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow,

Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day!

But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning,

The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.

"Twas thou that once taught me in accents bewailing,
To sing how a Warrior lay stretch'd on the plain,
And a Maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ;
As vain thy enchantments, O queen of wild numbers,
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er,
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers—
Farewell then-Enchantress !—I meet thee no more.

MISCELLANIES.

EPITAPH ON MRS ERSKINE.

PLAIN, as her native dignity of mind,
Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd:
Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll,
Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul.
But, Oh! what symbol may avail, to tell
The kindness, wit, and sense, we lov'd so well!

What sculpture shew the broken ties of life,

Here buried, with the Parent, Friend, and Wife! Or, on the tablet, stamp each title dear,

By which thine urn, EUPHEMIA, claims the tear!