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[.Autumn of 1793.}

The twentieth year is well nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast,
Ah would that this might be the last !

My Mary'

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see them daily weaker grow
my distress that brought thee low,

My Mary'

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my

sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,

My Mary'

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads, with magick art,
Have wound themselves about this heart,

My Mary'

Thy indistinct expressions scem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,

My Mary'

Thy silver locks once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,

My Mary

For could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary'

Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently prest, press gently miné,

My Mary!

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at every step thou mov'st,
Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st,

My Mary!

And still to love, though prest with ill,
In wintry ago to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,

My Mary'

But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show,
Transforms thy smiles to looks of wo,

My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,

My Mary!



[March 11, 1799.]

En, quæ prodigia ex oris allata remotis, Oras adveniunt påvefacta per æquora nostras Non equidem priscæ sæclum rediisse videtur Pyrrhæ, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora Adsunt, evulsi quando rádicitus alti In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu! Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex ære vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, Bacca cærulea, et flammas imitante pyropo, Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Parturit omnigenas, quibus ceva per omnia sumptu Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges ? Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos Mercatorum oculos : prius et quam littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima præda fuissent. Ortos unde putemus ? An illos Ves’vius atrox Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus Ætna ? Luce micant propria, Phæbive, per æra parum Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent ? Phæbi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Multa onerata nive, et canis conspersa pruinis Cætera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma fera Contristat menses, portenta hæc horrida nobis Illa strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solulæ Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, Illa gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese Mirum cæpit opus ; glacieque ab origine rerum In glaciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem Æquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. Sic immensa diu stetit, æternumque stetisset Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragoro, Dum ruit in pelagus tanquam studiosa natandi, Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, Insula, in Ægæo fluitasse erratica ponto. Sed non ex glacie Delos ; neque torpida Delum Bruma inter rupes genuit nudam sterilemque. Sed vestita herbis erat illa, ornataque nunquam Decidua lauro ; et Delum dilexit Apollo. At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, Nubibus involvens frontein, non ille tueri Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cælum ! Ite ! Redite! Timete moras ; ni leniter austro Spirante, et nitidas Phæbo jaculante sagittas Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti




[March 19, 1799.]

What portents, from what distant region, ride, Unseen till now in ours, th' astonish'd tide In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves. But now, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood, Dire times were they, full charg'd with human woes ; And these, scarce less calamitous than those, What view we now? More wondrous still! Behold! Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold ; And all around the pearl's pure splendour show, And all around the ruby's fiery glow. Come they from India, where the burning Earth, All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth; And where the costly gems, that beam around The brows of mightiest potentates, are found ? No. Never such a countless dazzling store Had left, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, Should sooner far have marked and seized the prizc. Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come From Ves’vius', or from Ætna’s burning womb ? Thus shine they self-illum'd, or but display The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day? With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales, that

breathe Now landward, and the current's force beneath,

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