BY THE SAME .

The rising sun's enlivening ray
Dispell'd the gloom of night,
Each verdant field and slow'ry spray
With dew-drops twinkled bright.

The earliest of the feather'd throng,
As round all nature smil'd,
A woodlark, tun'd his matin song,
In strains divinely wild.

O say, ye soft harmonious train,
Ye warblers of the grove,

Retire from me yow pensive thoughts awhile
decayers of my youthe my strenth and lyvely blood
And lett sweete sleepe my troubled head begile
whilste yow goe bath your selfes in Laehis floode
Or yff nott soo, till I have taken reste
my thoughts goo lodge within my Mistresse breste

Make knowen to her my wounds as yett butt greene
disclose the sparkes nott growen to be a flame
Which tyme its selfe will make to playnely seene
excepte I cloke theis grieffs off myne with game
A readye way to flye nott fynde releefe

BY THE SAME .

O L ISIDOR ! he said, and heav'd a sigh;
How shall my falt'ring tongue the tale reveal!
This melting heart now gushes from my eye,
That suppliant beauty could not teach to feel.

By pleasure lur'd, unable to controul,
She led me to the paths of vice and woe;
She bade remorse thus agonize my soul,
And taught these tears of penitence to flow.

I.

When I think on your truth I doubt you no more,
I blame all the fears I gave way to before;
I say to my heart " Be at rest and believe
" That whom once she has chosen she never will leave. "

II.

But ah! when I think on each ravishing grace
That plays in the smiles of that heav'nly face
My heart beats again; I again apprehend
Some fortunate rival in ev'ry friend.

III.

These painful suspicions you cannot remove,
Since you neither can lessen your charms nor my love,

BY THE SAME .

O H ! might I freely choose my path of life,
From giddy pleasure, and ambitious strife,
To joys more peaceful should my footsteps tend,
And seek in virtuous innocence a friend.
A cottage, by whose side clear streamlets run,
And gilded only by the orient sun:
When bright Aurora, with her purple ray,
Streaks on the western sky the dawn of day;
In peace I'd tread the damask-coated vale,
To breathe the fragrance of the morning gale.
Or, with my book, retire to woodbine bow'rs,

Familiar - and dear friend! Ah! let you erzehlen what:
I shall turn, (o not scoff!) Love.
The longing Catch me with silent fear to torment,
And makes it as side woes that gives blind stitches.
Four years dispensable 'I already have the beautiful Leonora,
My Hertz left with yrs the exercise susser glow;
The misfortune tore me away, and my poet-pipes
Passed the horny sound like me the courage lovely.
Jch sang and played though, but nothing as action songs,
There, to the Elbe Athens, here to Pleissen beach:

ON HER PLEADING WANT OF TIME .

I.

On Thames' bank a gentle youth
For Lucy sigh'd with matchless truth
Ev'n when he sigh'd in rhyme;
The lovely maid his flame return'd,
And would with equal warmth have burn'd,
But that she had not time.

II.

Oft' he repair'd with eager feet
In secret shades his fair to meet
Beneath th' accustom'd lime;
She would have fondly met him there,
And heal'd with love each tender care,
But that she had not time.

III.

Sence course of kinde ordaynes itt to be so
that strongeste steele should yeld unto the flame
and every mettall that in myne doth growe
doth want the power for to resyste the same
Then do not blame this humayne harte of myne
To yelde unto the force of flames devyne.

And since lykewise by proofe and dayly vewe
we fynde the fire to have such secret power
to trye the golde wher it be false or true
and baseste drosse from fyneste Silver scowre
Then be assured true is this harte off myne
That so is triede in flames that are devyne.

From your fayre eyes the kendlynge sparks were sent
that first did set my fancye on a fyere
before which tyme I knewe nott what itt ment
to burne in love and languishe in desier
But daylie nowe as in your face I see
those graces growe, that maks you more to shine
soo daylie doth new flames aryse in mee
and more and more, Consume this brest off myne
Now are they growen so farr into extreames
that greater rage, with lyefe I may not taste
then doo you nott encrease, in beawties Beames
Excepte you woolde my lymmes to Syndars waste

BY Maria F ALCONAR .

M ANSIONS of woe, where silent horror reigns,
And pensive desolation ever dwells;
Where the sad captive groans beneath his chains,
The hapless tenant of these gloomy cells!

And here the wretch, whom justice dooms to die,
Who sees no friendly ray of comfort near,
Lost to himself and every former joy,
With sad reflection drops the bitter tear!

The fatal clock, at every passing hour,