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Yes, truly—one must scream and bawl,
I tell you you can't hear at all.
Then with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.

Alas! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear'd,
As to be wantonly incurr'd;
To gratify a fretful passion,
On ev'ry trivial provocation?
The kindest and the happiest pair,
Will find occasion to forbear,
And something ev'ry day they live
To pity, and perhaps, forgive.
But if infirmities that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish, or a sense impair'd,
Are crimes so little to be spar'd,
Then farewel all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state,


Instead os harmony, 'tisjar
And tumult, and intestine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage,.
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserv'd by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention,
But lives, when that exterior grace
Which first inspir'd the flame, decays.
*Tis gentle, delicate and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure.
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression
Shows love to be a mere profession,
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or soon expels him if it is.

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To the Rev. Mr! NEWTON.


An Invitation into the Country.

i . . .

* • '. . .


THE swallows in their torpid state,

Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait . .

The call of early spring.

». .2.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildest wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,

Secure of their repose. . .. .

But man all feeling and awake

The gloomy scene surveys,
With present ills his heart must ach,

And pant for brighter days.


Old winter halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn,
But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,

And whispers your return.

Then April with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bow'rs,

And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
To crown the smiling hours.

And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times appear,

A glimpse of joy that we have met
Shall shine, and dry the tear.




MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere poffit, Nomine sub ficto trans mare tnittit opes;

Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed solara exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe.

2. Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines*

Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, fume lyram. Namque lyram juxta pofitam cum carmine vidit,

Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram,


Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunf>

Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ, Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chloes.

A * $tibrubct

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