THE WELCOME EVENING. LET those that know no other bliss, But thou, my soul, hast joys in store, Hail ye, sweet ev'ning shades! all hail! Wrapt in these gentle shades I rest, Hid from the world, the world from me; But oh! none knows how I am blest In this divine obscurity. Thro' groves of bliss I seem to stray, And blaze with intellectual light. While half the world dream, start, and sleep, And half cheat, fight, curse, rave, and groan, Then I my silent jubil' keep, And hold my festival alone. 'Till morning's melancholy dawn Lets in confusion and the day, And noise and tumult hurry on, And chase sweet Salem's peace away: How doleful all the world seems then! Oh! what is all that men call light, Life, music, pomp, delight, and mirth, But raving dreams, and hideous night, Howling and spectres, hell and death? When will th' eternal morning dawn Rev. W. Richards. EPITAPH. BENEATH the droppings of this spout, A soul this carcase once possess'd, To Envy's self we now appeal, To make her declaration. Then rest, good shade, nor hell, nor vermin fear, } Thy virtues guard thy soul, thy body good strong beer. He died July 6th, 1739, aged 83. Ollerton Church Yard. THE SIGH. WHEN youth his fairy reign began, And when along the waves of woe But soon reflection's power impress'd And, tho' in different climes to roam S. T. Coleridge. BY A LADY DESERTED BY HER LOVER. I CAUGHT a bright fantastic cloud, And in the glitt❜ring moonlight dress'd it; Then, of the beauteous pageant proud, Too fondly to my bosom press'd it. I fancied by the dubious light, I saw my phantom sweetly smiling; My bosom throbb'd with wild delight, All reason's sober fears beguiling. What dreams of joy my soul revolv'd! Condemn'd henceforward still to grieve, From treach'rous hope will I no more But silently my loss deplore, And sink a prey to silent sorrow. Literary Leisure. |